


Worlds of Longing

by Ducks, theantijoss (Ducks)



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Apocalypse, AtS S2, BtVS S5, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Glorificus - Freeform, Post-Joyce's Death, Wangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 42
Words: 140,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7735528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ducks/pseuds/Ducks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ducks/pseuds/theantijoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Angel's world is mending, Buffy's is crashing down around her ears. Hm. I wonder what that could mean. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So old I had to use an entire Swiffer to dust it off. Originally published 2001-2002-ish?
> 
> Found floating in the Internet ether, one of those rare times when "Anything you put on the internet is there forever!" is actually helpful. Many thanks to Alexandra Gardner (reginahalliwell) for emailing me to ask where she could find some of the classic stories now that Ducks' Fanfic is no more.
> 
> Original Notes:  
> TIMELINE: Buffy S5/Angel S2  
> SPOILERS: Consider the entire canon fair game, especially BtVS5/AtS2  
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Inspired by "Komodo" by Kita, and "Reconstruction," by Diane Harris  
> FEEDBACK: Tell me you love me. ;)  
> DEDICATION: To the ladies at Adult B/A Shippers, for their encouragement and inspiration. To Kita, whether she likes it or not. And most of all to Diane, for opening the floodgates, and giving me the premise that's been eluding me for so long. And then letting me steal it. *G*

"But Perhaps God Needs the Longing" - Nelly Sachs

_But perhaps God needs the longing, wherever else shall it dwell,_  
_Which with kisses and tears and sighs fills mysterious spaces of air -_  
_And perhaps is invisible soil from which roots of stars grow and swell -_  
_And the radiant voice across fields of parting which calls to reunion there?_  
_O my beloved, perhaps in the sky of longing worlds have been born of our love -_  
_Just as our breathing, in and out, builds a cradle for life and death?_  
_We are grains of sand, dark with farewell, lost in births' secret treasure trove,_  
_Around us already perhaps future moons, suns, and stars blaze in a fiery wreath._

****************************************************************************

She returned to his thoughts in bits and pieces, escaping from that small, airtight place where he had locked her away when the Darkness came.

For years, she had dwelt in the forefront of his mind -- a shining beacon of hope against hope, a reminder of how he had become who he was, and why he rose every sunset to do what he did. She was a living symbol of all that he was not. Good to his evil. Light to his dark. Everything he ever wanted.

Angel never would have admitted it, of course -- not aloud to anyone else, or even explicitly to himself -- but the tiny dreamer in his soul believed the true value of his promised reward lay two hours and a lifetime away, in hair of sunlight gold and eyes of summer moss. That to be human again might mean one small chance... someday...

The light at the end of the tunnel.

When he left Sunnydale, he'd still clung to her so tightly, even as he walked away. And later, when she moved on, and he was still in his eternal stasis... he passed endless hours reliving their happier times together. Halcyon nights of passionate kisses in moonlit graveyards and tiny fingers of warm forgiveness entwined in his as they walked innocent paths of the young and righteous together.

He had never let her go... not really. Even after The Day That Wasn't... after their argument over Faith, and the confrontation with Riley... even then, he hadn't been able to put her out of his mind for long. She was the ground of his being... the reason he stood there at all, with a family, a purpose, a definition, and wasn't a withering shadow of death or a pile of dust on some filthy Manhattan street. She was the reason he wasn't still eating rats, and hadn't given up the ghost to some hopeless morning's sunrise long ago. One glance at her was all it had taken to alter him to his very cells... and for a time, he thought that feeling would be his forever.

But even the Eternal change. Time and circumstances faded her memory some... dulled the cutting edges of longing. Fire destroyed most of the mementos, and the place where they had last lay together. He rose and he fell, Icarus of the soul, reaching for the burning sun of redemption, then revenge, his wings of arrogant existential certainty vaporized by its heat.

And oh, how he had fallen... Plunged into a place so utterly without light, that some still-sane part of his soul couldn't bear to sully the memory of her by taking it with him. When he had shirked the bonds of humanity and all its comforts, he had locked her away tightly somewhere where she would forever remain pure and safe... where she would always be Buffy, and his darkness would never, ever touch her again.

But she came back... pieces of her leaking from the container... drifting in fits and starts into his thoughts, even at his darkest hour.

She came that night... with Darla. After he drilled his tormentor into the mattress, searching desperately inside dead skin for something... anything... to take away the gaping, yawning, ripping nothing that had come to nest in his center. And after, when he slept, gathering the shadows around him and hoping never to wake again... she came.

He woke to the crash of thunder, and a screaming agony at the core of his being.

_((Strong is fighting! It's hard, and it's painful, and it's every day... but if you die now, then all you ever were was a monster!))_

No. He couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't fight, when there was nothing to fight for. Not when there was no battle to be won, no foe to be defeated but the undefeatable in _every ((...single one of them out there...))._ Even her.

But the pain had driven him from his bed anyway... the pain he remembered so clearly, so perfectly, in each sharp, excruciating detail... the only product of a moment of perfect happiness...

Even now, when he recalled that night, he wasn't certain what had really wakened him. His injuries, the storm, a nightmare... or maybe it was a cosmic boot in the ass from the Powers, the universe sneering at him, as it tugged at the tethers that bound his soul. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Angel's first clear thought was her name _((Buffy...))_ , and he stumbled out into the storm, each motion familiar, like a horrible rerun of that last time... his every moment of fear and weakness, his every sign of poor judgment, his every wrong, selfish choice crashing down on him... and because of it, all that he had struggled for... all that he had sacrificed and so desperately dreamed of, was lost.

_((Dying.))_

He fell, hitting the ground with a jarring force, and for a moment, he thought it was over. His soul screamed in a chorus of damned voices... the pain of thousands dead by his own hand, cursing him, pulling him, tearing him in two and dragging him down into Hell.

_((Isn't this what you wanted?))_

_No. No, please... I'm sorry! Buffy..._

_((Don't fight it, my love. Just let it happen.))_

The sound of Darla's voice was like a fairy whip slicing through the chaos inside and around him. An anchor to this reality that pulled him back, even as she encouraged him to let go.

_((It leaves a bitterness... it'll pass.))_

He forced himself to his feet... to look into soulless eyes of icy blue into which he had poured his mortal life, two centuries before... and into which, a few hours ago, he had tried to lose his immortal essence.

But he was still there, body and soul together. He realized in an instant that what he was looking at... this thing of incredible beauty and evil... could never break the curse, even if he came inside her a thousand times. All he could see there was damnation... hers and his own. Darkness. Hell.

Not Perfect Happiness. Not all the things he longed for, but was eternally denied.

Not Buffy.

For a moment, it wasn't his Sire, but his life's only love, like a phantom before him, green eyes filled with hurt tears and dying innocence, and he remembered how he had taunted her...

_((It's what? Bells ringing, fireworks, a dulcet choir of pretty little birdies? Come on, Buffy. It's not like I've never been there before.))_

Perfect Despair. The vision of her face that morning, when she should have awakened in a loving embrace, to a rain of grateful, passionate kisses and promises of eternal devotion, and instead she rose to a nightmare walking...leering at her with a frigid mockery of his smile, and attacking her heart with the ghost of his voice.

The memory snapped him to keen awareness. Wrong. He had been going about it all wrong. Redemption wasn't a goal, a place he had to travel to or a prize he had to claim. Victory wasn't a tangible thing that he could hear or see or smell or hold in his hands. Amends could not be made by sacrificing himself to the magnificent beast that created him. Or to the pain that had so long driven him.

Atonement was found in the simple act of giving, for its own sake. He owed this creature nothing. He had already given her everything he had to give.

It was that simple.

And so he clawed his way back into the noise and the grit of the Home Office, to mend what fences were mendable, to do what good could be done... to move forward again, and hope that was enough. For a while, Angel hadn't thought of Buffy at all, his nights were so full. It felt good to be with his friends again, and to work beside them, and... to heal.

The next time she came was a few days after what had been the most difficult battle of his life... that literal manifestation of the centuries old internal struggle between himself and his demon. And though he was ultimately victorious, the cost was high... his already grievous wounds were made worse by the Baynor demons, plus the whipping by Lindsey, and the less tenable damage done by his soul flip-flopping back and forth between the Earth and the ether... to say he was weak and tired was a gross understatement, and Wesley had threatened to chain him down ((You know I'll do it!)) if the vampire even so much as thought about getting out of bed.

Not that Angel had much choice... he drifted in and out of consciousness for days as his friends took turns tending him. When he was finally able to sit up and stay awake for more than a few minutes, the ex-watcher announced that he had something important to discuss with him.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting... maybe more confrontation about his behavior the past few months... more pleading that he try to trust them, let them in more... but he certainly wasn't expecting what he got.

"Your triumph over the Feast of Souls had some... unforeseen side effects..."

Angel had almost wanted to shut his eyes and pretend he hadn't heard that at all. What else could the Powers possibly do to him? What else did he have left for them to take away?

"It's... about your soul."

Some part of him knew. He felt... different. Lighter, somehow, as if his journey to the Other Side... his father's forgiveness and _approval ((I've been watching yeh, lately, since the gypsies. Yeh do good work.))_... the Powers calling to him _((choose to fight))_ had lifted some of his burden away. Like someone had taken a vacuum cleaner to the darkest reaches of his being.

But to hear his closest friend say it aloud... to hear this learned man confirm it... define it... put it into words...

It finally became real.

"Your soul is fully yours once more, Angel. It resides in your body because you *chose* to have it there, not because it was forced there by magick."

_((ye still have more to do. ye don't belong here...))_

"What are you saying?"

It was doltish to ask, of course. Wesley had made himself as clear as possible, considering the subject matter. But he didn't seem to mind explaining... in fact, a bright smile lit his face as he did.

"I'm saying that your soul is anchored. Not only is there no clause to the Gypsy curse... there *is* no more curse at all."

The words seemed to echo, ricocheting around inside his still-groggy skull. No curse. No curse. No curse.

He blinked stupidly, and struggled to find his voice. "How..."

He listened to Wesley's exegesis... his theory about the loosing of Angel's soul by the Feast, and all the evidence he had produced to support his assumption. But the specifics, finally, didn't matter. Only one fact did.

His soul was his. He didn't belong to the Romany any longer. He wasn't barred from seeking the one, simple thing that every living being with a soul longed for:

Happiness.

And naturally, when he thought that, the first vision that popped into his head was Buffy's face. The most insurmountable obstacle between them had just vanished, and for a split second, he had an overwhelming urge -- to go to her. To tell her. To beg her to take him back... let him make love to her the way he'd wanted to for so long... Let him bathe in her warmth once again, and drive away the last of the cold that still clung to his skin.

_((Just once more... please...))_

But it was only a moment, and he let it pass, like an urge to sneeze or cough.

Thoughts like that wouldn't help. Longing for things that could never be got him nothing but lost, abandoning cherished friends, killing lawyers, and setting vampires ablaze. So he gently pushed her away once more.

As time passed and he recovered, though, she still returned. The next time, when he cleaned out his closet and found the box of smoke-stained refuse that he'd rescued from the old apartment. He didn't mean to open it... but, somehow, he found himself carrying it over to his bed and prying open the top, rifling through the precious remains of his old life. Letters... a movie ticket stub. Some flame-licked sketches and photographs... and his old silk robe.

He hadn't washed it since That Day... the day she wore it. Not that it mattered, since it had never really touched her skin at all. But when he lifted the singed silk to his face and inhaled deeply enough, he didn't smell dust and smoke and dreams come true swallowed whole by the cosmos... he smelled sunshine and honeysuckle... melting chocolate and the blended musk of their union...

He put it away quickly, sealing the box with half a roll of electric tape, and pushed it even further back in the closet, and her, deeper into his heart. No use going there again. No going back. The past was gone, she was happy and loved, and the only direction now for him was forward.

Things at Angel Investigations settled quickly into a routine. Bustling afternoons of research in the office, long nights of talk with sorely-missed allies. For two weeks, Angel had been in possession his permanent soul, and every day he became more convinced that not only *could* he have happiness, but that he *would*, someday. Maybe it wouldn't be perfect. Maybe it wouldn't be the flawless bliss that he had shared for a single moment, with her. But then... who ever found that kind of joy twice in a lifetime? However long that life might be.

Angel wasn't thinking about anything as heavy as love or perfection the afternoon he decided to give his kitchen a badly needed cleaning. He was simply enjoying the scent of Pine Sol, and the fresh early spring air floating through the French doors he'd thrown open to the night... chasing out the ghosts of the past year. He was enveloped in the Zen rhythm of scrubbing, sweeping, and dusting... finding a million tiny joys in the simplest of motions, happy that the physical activity now only caused a minimum of discomfort in his slowly mending body.

_((chop wood, carry water. here is enlightenment.))_

Then he threw open the freezer to defrost it, and there she was again.

The carton was old... he couldn't be sure how old, really, because for the unlife of him, he didn't remember buying it. It was barely identifiable as ice cream at all anymore, it was so thickly freezer burned. The colorful container obscured by crystals like time frozen over the letters on the label: Cookie Dough Fudge Mint Chip. Angel had never opened it. What would be the use? It wouldn't taste like anything but cold to his vampire taste buds, and if there was anything he *didn't* need, it was more ice in his veins.

But there she was... laughing. Really laughing, as he had never seen her do before. Crying out his name as they made love for the fifth time in as many hours (or maybe fiftieth...he'd lost track), her fine features contorted in an ecstasy that softly coaxed his entire being to rejoice and explode into pure light. There she was, dribbling the sweet, chilly goop down the meridian of his warm body and licking it carefully away, leaving them so sticky after, they'd been forced (oh, so reluctantly) to take a shower, laughing all the while.

There she was. Like a ghost. Like the seasons. Like a river. Like a circle, moving away, fading, changing, but always returning again.

He stood there for a long time, just staring at that frozen moment, the lone occupant of the dark, icy space, and let it wash through him for the first time in... ages. He took the time to carefully recall every word they'd said... every touch they'd shared, every tear, and he wondered... now that he was free, couldn't he just... one more time... Couldn't he call her? Write her a letter? Couldn't he open his weary soul and tell her all he had seen and done and felt since last they met?

He could look into her shining eyes... hold her small, warm hands, kiss her sweet lips. For a moment, maybe, he could be Home again.

Angel missed her still, with a tender ache that forced stinging tears to his eyes and squeezed his dead heart tight.

_((The smallest act of kindness is the greatest thing in the world.))_

She had shown him so much kindness... But the only truly benevolent thing Angel had ever done for her -- and, truth be told, for himself -- had been to leave. Nothing would really be different. All those barriers of pain and mistrust would still stand between them, ghosts of their past always lurking just over their shoulders, casting shadows over anything they tried to build. Assuming they could manage to build anything at all, after all this time. There was no way to go back to the innocence they'd had so long ago. How could anything less ever be enough?

No. His gift to Buffy had been letting her go. He would never forget, but... perhaps someday, she would stop coming back quite so often, and he too could move on.

The kind of joy they'd had was too rare to happen again. She had found a man who would love her... stand by her... die for her, if it came to that. Someone who she loved and trusted, and never had to fear or doubt. And that was what he had wanted for her. That was the way it should be.

He heard the others come into the lobby, their cheerful voices ringing off the cathedral ceiling.

"Yo, Angel! You gotta check out this dagger, man!"

"It's the size of my arm!"

"It's more of a sword, really..."

"Whatever."

He smiled to himself and called back, "I'll be down in a minute!"

The ice cream was already melting from his long meditation on it. He pulled the carton out, and swept the crystals of ice off the front, exposing the colorful label. Taking one more measure of remembered heartbeats to feel it, remember it, he turned and dumped it in the trash.

Things were just as they should be -- in her world, and in his -- and nothing could be gained by disturbing that equilibrium. What the Fates had in store for them remained to be seen, but... for now... he would leave well enough alone, and keep on the way he always had, with just her ever-present, slowly fading ghost as a reminder...

He had built something solid... something all his own, from the ashes and the longing. A new world, a new life... and though it had initially been only a happy side effect of the most difficult decision he'd ever made, it was real. And he didn't intend on wasting it again by dwelling on the never-can-be's.


	2. Chapter 2

"The Soul Selects" by Emily Dickinson

_The soul selects her own society,_  
_Then shuts the door;_  
_On her divine majority_  
_Obtrude no more._  
_Unmoved, she notes the chariots pausing_  
_At her low gate;_  
_Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling_  
_Upon her mat._  
_I've known her from an ample nation_  
_Choose one;_  
_Then close the valves of her attention  
_ _Like stone._

****************************************************************************

Buffy had quickly become the spokeswoman for "keeping busy" in the days after her mother's death. She maintained an eerily upbeat attitude, kept in constant motion, and framed her life with an unending stream of To Do lists which relentlessly devoured exactly twenty four hours of each day, leaving no room for her to catch her breath, let alone to grieve.

"Moping is useless. I, on the other hand, am use*ful*," she insisted. It had become her new, and oft-expressed, motto.

Her adopted family watched her mania with growing dread. After the first night, at the morgue, Buffy hadn't paused for even a moment... not to eat, not to sleep, and certainly not to cry.

"Too much to do," she would contend, and bound off to get the oil changed, buy groceries, or make a call to the funeral home, "Don't worry. Everything' s under control."

Too much control, as far as everyone else was concerned.

She cleaned the house and did the laundry, scrubbed the floors, trimmed the hedges and mowed the lawn, painted the shutters, and patrolled like a mad dervish of demon death. She had shifted from sister and Slayer to Mother and SuperSlayer overnight, without a whimper of protest or a moment's lament. By all outward appearances, Buffy had not only seemed to accept her mother's sudden demise, but had taken on the new definition of her life that was its result with uncharacteristic gusto.

Her friends found themselves helplessly waiting for her to self-destruct. There was grieving to be done, and Buffy simply wasn't doing it.

When she wasn't making cookies or phone calls to relatives, all of her almost non-existent spare time was spent on Slayer Duty. She spent hours haunting Sunnydale's numerous graveyards, putting her ear to the ground at Willy's, or at the Magic Box, relentlessly training or plowing through endless reams of material the Watcher's Council had been providing regarding Glory.

Giles was more than concerned over Buffy's denial -- he was downright frightened. Four days had passed since Joyce died, and the Watcher knew from Dawn that Buffy not only wasn't taking time to mourn, she had ceased doing the simplest, most necessary things -- like sleeping and eating. Normally, he would say that his charge just needed time to process all of the earth-shattering changes of the past few months in her own unique way.

But at this particular moment, he was afraid that her manner of processing would get her -- and possibly every living being in this dimension -- killed. The time was swiftly approaching when Glory would attack, and everyone needed to be at full strength and awareness -- especially the Slayer. Although he lamented the dreadful timing, the stars cared not a bit about Joyce's passing, and when they aligned...

Something had to be done, but he hadn't the foggiest notion of what. Buffy gently rebuffed offers of assistance from any of them, insisting vehemently on accomplishing every small task herself. She refused Willow's offers to talk. Declined Xander and Anya's suggestion that they take Dawn out for an evening. She turned down shopping sprees, movie festivals, 'massive pig-outs', magick, tea, and pretty much every other activity that might once have been a balm for the pain he could see hovering just beneath the surface of her tired, vacant eyes and plastic smile.

Her refusal to open up wounded everyone around her, as well. Each member of their group mourned Joyce's passing, and their attempts to reach out to Buffy had been as much for their benefit as hers. They wanted to honor their individual memories of Buffy's mother in their own way, but without their friend's cooperation, they were left scrambling in the dark with nothing but their sadness and worry. Even Spike had taken to showing up at the shop at odd hours, wearing a hangdog look, and asking if there was anything he could do.

Giles watched Buffy carefully as they all sat down around the table with the newest round of research, gossip, and prophecy regarding the coming Cosmic Convergence, during which, they believed, Glory would make her move.

"I want either Spike or I with you 24/7, do you understand? Don't even open a *window* unless one of us is with you." Buffy enjoined her sister as they concluded.

Dawn, unlike Buffy, was the perfect picture of a grieving teenager. Her eyes were perpetually red from her frequent, sudden bouts of crying, her face drawn and weary, and her usually indomitable manner subdued and quiet. Where normally she fought Buffy tooth and nail for each small speck of her independence and freedom, over the past few days, she had begun to simply acquiesce.

"Okay."

Though it broke Rupert's heart to see the poor girl so despondent, at least her reactions were healthy, considering her complicated circumstances. And so long as the depression didn't drag on for too long a period of time, he was fairly certain that she would eventually recover and be herself once more.

Assuming that she survived the coming days.

Giles shook the thought away. No. Come Hell or high water (and he was convinced that they would more than likely see a great deal of both before this was done), they would keep Dawn safe.

But Buffy...

"Spike?" the Slayer nodded to the blond vampire, who had been reluctantly re-admitted to their numbers. He, as much as any of them hated to admit it, was desperately needed right now.

"On it. Watch the chit," he mumbled.

Giles, frankly, was as surprised by Spike's turnaround in attitude as anything else. He seemed genuinely grateful to be with the group once more, and his demeanor had become almost uncomfortably cooperative, rather than confrontational. At night, when he was supposed to be watching Dawn, the vampire instead would leave the girl with two or more members of the group, and follow Buffy on her manic patrols.

"All we need is for the Slayer to bloody buy it because she's off her game. If she's gonna die, it's not gonna be at the fangs of some idiot fledge because she hasn't been getting enough sleep," he'd explained.

And, to Giles' great consternation, he was right. Although he in no way trusted the vampire's motives, his agenda was ultimately unimportant at this particular juncture.

Buffy went on. "Okay, great. Now," she turned her weary eyes to her mentor, "Giles, have you been able to figure out those astrological calculations? Do we know *exactly* when Glory will try to open the Gate?"

The Englishman did his level best not to cringe at the deep shadows under her eyes, which she had failed miserably to hide with heavy makeup. "Not precisely. It's a rare alignment of stars and planets -- one that would be of little interest to any scholar or magickian in this dimension, so studies of it are almost non-existent. I do believe we are close, however."

The Slayer's face nearly collapsed at the news. Giles could swear he saw tears threatening in those eyes, and her scowl was unnerving -- a complete over-reaction to what he had said. He suspected he was witnessing one of many cracks in her carefully constructed facade of unflappable strength.

But in less than a blink, the expression vanished, only to be replaced by the calm and business-like one she had worn almost constantly, of late.

"Keep working on it," she said softly, giving him the worst imitation of a smile he had ever seen. The Slayer got up from her seat, claiming her weapons bag from the table, and clipped her beeper onto the waistband of her jeans. "I'll be at Happy Acres, then Willy's. Beep me if *anything* weird happens, okay?" She addressed the last directly to her sister, who forlornly held up her special one button cell phone and nodded. "Good. Spike... don't let her out of your sight for a *second*. If I find out you so much as let her leave the *room* without you, you're dust. Comprende?"

The vampire barely tipped his head in response.

"Well, unless I run into some real fun, I'll be home by 3." She bent over and kissed Dawn, petting her hair tenderly. The only true emotion Buffy showed these days was to the young girl. "Be good for your evil, soulless demon babysitter, okay?"

Not waiting for an answer, Buffy turned and trotted out of the shop, the bells of the door cheerfully announcing her exit.

The others stared after her for a moment, then all eyes turned to their reluctant vampire ally. Without a word or a return glance, Spike got up and followed.

Once he was gone, everyone at the table exhaled at once.

"We have to do something," Willow sighed, "She can't go on like this much longer."

"She's gonna fall apart," Xander agreed.

"And now is *not* the best time for her to do that," Tara added, "Not that there's ever a *good* time."

Giles gave a sigh that came from his toes, and took the seat Buffy had so recently vacated. Each of the young people at that table looked to him for guidance, their eyes filled with the fear and confusion of children with far too much wisdom for their tender years, thrown into yet *another* situation they were utterly unprepared for. True, they had defeated the very Hosts of Hell together... they had even faced Death itself... but never had they had to deal with events as immediately and personally dire as the ones currently before them. Joyce's unexpected, tragic death, Buffy's psychological state... Glory... even Dawn herself.

He never wanted to shake his fists in rage at the Fates more than he had in recent days. It was entirely unfair for Buffy to have to bear the sorts of painful burdens that she did because of her Calling. With Angel's departure, then Riley's... and now her mother, leaving her with not only the weight of the world on her shoulders, but the responsibility of raising a teenager not entirely of human origin, as well...

It was all too much to for even he to think about, and considering how crushing his sympathetic pain, he could barely imagine the depth of emotion his foster daughter was repressing.

"No. It isn't. And yes, we do need to do something. But all our efforts to alleviate her stress have failed miserably, thus far. I'm afraid that I'm fresh out of ideas."

Another collective sigh. They had all wracked their brains... had all reached out in their way... but Buffy had refused them each unequivocally.

"What about her father?" Anya queried softly. Of all of them, it seemed that the ex-demon was taking this hardest of all, "Isn't it his duty to protect his family?"

"He's coming Friday for the funeral, but I guess he couldn't get back any sooner," Willow replied, "Her aunt in Michigan, either. All of this was so..."

She trailed off, slipping back into the mute melancholy that all of them had been suffering from. All of them, that is, except Buffy.

"Sudden?" Xander finished for her.

The Witch nodded.

"Maybe we should shoot her with the tranquilizer gun," Anya suggested helpfully.

Four matching glares met her proposal.

"Well..." she insisted in her own defense, "She has to *sleep*, right?"

"Sure!" Willow snapped, " And then while she's unconscious, we could just hook her up to a glucose IV, because... hey! She has to eat, right?"

"I'm just trying to help."

"Well, you're not, so SHUT UP!"

Giles cringed as the argument quickly escalated.

"Willow, that's not fair," Tara objected.

"NOT FAIR? Buffy is KILLING HERSELF!" the redhead cried, waving a frantic hand at the distraught ex-demon, "And all she can do is..."

"She's doing the best she can, Will," Xander added, "She doesn't understand what's going on!"

"Yeah? Well her best SUCKS!"

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here."

"You guys..."

"Children, please. This isn't helping."

"Neither are you! What have you done for Buffy lately, Giles?"

"I'm as upset as you all are."

Dawn watched the chaos as if from a great distance. She hadn't felt much of anything in days, really, and didn't see much use in talking unless someone spoke directly to her. Her mom was dead, her sister acting like everything was fine, and all her friends were treating her like a china doll -- even Spike, who she had come to count on for *not* doing that. It was like she went to school that morning four days ago, and stepped into some weird dimensional portal that dumped her in a twisted, bizarro version of her already insane life.

She was worried about Buffy, too. Her sister was all she really had, now, even if she wasn't really her sister, and she couldn't even find the energy to help bring her back. Dawn herself cried every time she blinked, it seemed like, and Buffy would always just put her arms around her and comfort her, but never shed a single tear herself. It was all too spooky, and she didn't have the first clue what to do to help her obviously screwed up sister feel better. At least get a little depressed, and not be all Donna Reed all the time.

There was no one who Buffy was willing to lean on, really. She was the Slayer, and so used to everybody depending on her, she didn't even remember how to let go anymore. But then... that had always been her way. For as long as Dawn could remember, her older sister did her own thing, and refused to let anybody give her advice or support her at all. She kept everything to herself, and now...

Now Dawn was terrified that she was going to lose Buffy, too. She couldn't help remembering when she ran away a few years ago... how everybody had been so sad and quiet, and Dawn knew that something terrible was happening, but nobody would tell her what. She cried herself to sleep almost every night while Buffy was gone, wondering what she'd done wrong... what could've happened with Angel that would have...

Her brain came to a screeching halt.

"Guys?" she murmured, but no one heard above the shouting. "GUYS!!!!!"

All eyes snapped to her, shocked at her shriek.

"Dawn? What is it?" Giles asked, quickly leaning toward her, concern clearly etched on his features.

Dawn took a deep breath, knowing what she was about to say probably wouldn't make anybody very happy. But right now, anything was better than watching Buffy fall apart, right?

She could hardly believe she hadn't thought of it before now. The only person Buffy had ever really relied on. The only shoulder she'd allowed to take some of her weight. The only other creature in the universe she trusted enough to really be weak with...

She remembered when Buffy had nearly had a breakdown after the Master killed her (not that anybody had told Dawn about that, either, she'd read it in Giles' journal). How she had woken up late one night to the sound of loud sobbing from the living room, and crept to the top of the stairs, terrified that something really bad had happened. Buffy had been a total psycho-bitch over the summer at their Dad's, acting all superior and snotty to everyone, including her. To hear her so upset, now...

When Dawn peeked over the railing, she almost collapsed with relief at the sight that met her eyes -- big, strong arms wrapped tightly around her sister, soft lips tenderly brushing her hair, a deep, velvet voice whispering comforting nonsense...

She went back to bed that night feeling better than she had in months, knowing that if anybody could make it all better, he could. He always did.

And now...

"I know how we can help Buffy," she informed them.

The optimism and relief that instantly blossomed on everyone's face, she knew, wouldn't last long. But maybe, considering the circumstances, they could all forget the past for a little while. For Buffy's sake.

"How?" Xander asked, voicing the question that was clear in everyone's eyes.

Dawn took a minute to look into each face as she steeled herself for their reaction.

"We have to call Angel."

The silence grew so thick that it choked all the oxygen out of the air. Everyone slowly exchanged looks that Dawn couldn't identify, and she swallowed hard, sinking back into her chair as she braced herself for them to start yelling again.

But no one said anything, or even moved at all for a long time, until Giles finally got up and retrieved the cordless from the training room, then returned to his seat.

"I said that before, but nobody wanted to hear it," Willow grumbled under her breath.

Dawn held out her hand. "Let me... I want to tell him."

The Watcher almost smiled as he handed her the phone.

They all knew it was true, whether they liked it or not. If anybody would be able to help Buffy deal, it was Angel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

"Home" by Rupert Brooke  
 _I came back late and tired last night_  
 _Into my little room_  
 _To the long chair and the firelight_  
 _And comfortable gloom_

_But as I entered softly in_   
_I saw a woman there,_   
_The line of neck and cheek and chin,_   
_The darkness of her hair,_   
_The form of one I did not know_   
_Sitting on my chair._

_I stood a moment fierce and still,_   
_Watching her neck and hair_   
_I made a step to her, and saw_   
_That there was no one there._

_It was some trick of the firelight_   
_That made me see her there._   
_It was a chance of shade and light_   
_And the cushion in the chair._

_Oh, all you happy over the earth_   
_That night, how could I sleep?_   
_I lay and watched the lonely gloom;_   
_And watched the moonlight creep_   
_From wall to basin, round the room,_   
_All night I could not sleep._

****************************************************************************  
"I don't understand," Wesley repeated for the hundredth time since their return to the Hyperion, "I was absolutely certain from the description that they would be Pootiadiep, and decapitation was the proper way to dispose of them!"

"I told you, they were *blue* in my vision, *not* red! Why don't you ever listen to me?" Cordy huffed.

"I *did* listen, Cordelia! And other than the unusual color, the demons you described fit the Pootiadiep profile to the *detail*!"

Then how is it, exactly, that not only *didn't* they turn to convenient, Bounty-sized puddles of slime when we chopped their heads off, they *multiplied*?" Gunn complained wearily, collapsing to the couch opposite Angel. "We started out with four big, ugly mothers -- odds I can handle -- and ended up with *seven*. And got our asses handed to us."

"I said I was *sorry*!" Wesley countered, pacing the room stiffly, "I was *certain*!"

Angel had to work hard to suppress both his concern and a happy smile. The former springing from his frustration at still not being 100%, and having to stay behind while the others did the dangerous work, and the latter...

Frankly, the smile had become a fairly permanent part of him, lately. He and his friends were rebuilding their relationship, the business was running smoothly, he was almost healed... unlife was really good, for a change. This particular smile originated from the fact that Cordy, Wesley and Gunn's bickering fell like a soft lullaby on his ears.

Cordy grabbed one of several dozen rolls of paper towels that she kept in the foyer closet. "Yeah, well, next time why don't you study your primary colors before we go out on a hunt!" she barked, mopping desperately at the neon orange goo smeared all over the front of her navy outfit for a moment, before giving up and throwing the towels on the floor with a frustrated grunt. "You know, I don't know why I bother even getting dressed at all!"

Angel noticed that Gunn didn't bother to hide his smirk.

"Well, perhaps you should stop dressing like a "Vogue" model, and switch to more *practical* attire, as we have been suggesting to you for... what, close to two *years* now?" Wesley sniped. He finally quit his pacing and sat beside Gunn on the sofa with "Corlat's Demon Encyclopedia" open on his lap.

"I take it things didn't go as smoothly as we planned," Angel chuckled, swinging out of his reclined position on the couch.

Cordy snorted as she flopped down in the space he'd opened beside him. "It was SO gross. I mean, here we are, all 'Oh, just cut their heads off,' which sounded *great*, in theory, but then Gunn actually *did* cut one of their heads off, and first," she gestured down at her ruined clothes, "Buckets of completely nauseating *ooze* all over the place, and *then*, snap, crackle, BOOM -- the head grows a new body and the body grows a new head!"

"And we were pretty much up shit creek," Gunn added.

Angel leaned forward, still trying to keep a serious face. "But you're all right... how'd you finally kill them?"

Wesley sighed. "We didn't. We beheaded several more, just to be certain, and when we got the same result..."

"We ran like Hell," Cordy finished, "Being the fearless demon hunters that we are."

Angel leaned back and let a small fraction of his smile appear. "Well, at least you got out of there. We can take care of them tomorrow."

"We're okay, but the people on the subway tomorrow might not be," Gunn reminded them.

The vampire nodded. "Taken care of. Kate pulled some strings and got the line shut down, for now."

Wesley looked impressed. "And what reason did she give for that, pray tell?"

"Alligators."

The tension broke at that, and the four friends shared a good laugh until Wesley slapped the book on the table between them, signaling the start of business.

"All right. The creatures Cordelia saw in her vision, as rendered by Angel, have all the characteristics of the common Pootiadiep: long, thick, bear-like coat, large red eyes and retracting claws, and the requisite blue bill. The only notable difference between said species and those we encountered, was the *color* of the coat. Pootiadiep fur is blue, by all accounts, while these creatures were decidedly *red*."

"And the head thing," Cordy added.

"Yes. That, as well."

"Maybe distant cousins?" Gunn suggested.

"Quite possibly," Wes concurred, "But if that is true, then we are at a loss. None of the sources I've consulted make any mention of a species of demon so entirely similar to the common Pootiadiep."

Cordy popped up, her lament over the loss of her outfit already forgotten as she jogged across the lobby toward her desk. "I'll check out D, D &D. Ooh! And the list -- maybe one of the other hunters online knows what these things are."

Angel never ceased to be amazed (and, admittedly, saddened,) by all of the changes that had taken place in his friends and their group dynamic over only a few months' time. Cordy had matured yet more, and was now able to switch focus from herself to business at the drop of a hat. Wesley had slid into the role of their leader as though he was born to it (which, considering his background as a Watcher, he was), and Gunn seemed more comfortable with the other two than Angel himself had ever felt. When he had first convinced them to move their offices back to the hotel, he'd hurtled back and forth between pure joy to be among them again, and a crushing sadness that he had shut himself away and missed so much. The weeks that passed eased that sensation some, and he was once again, at least nominally, part of the team. But still, he sometimes felt like a stranger, getting to know once-familiar loved-ones again.

"What do you think, Angel?" Gunn asked as he attempted to scrape goo off his axe, "You've seen more slimy demons than the three of us put together."

Another smile burst in his heart. However slow and arduous the rebuilding of their family ties was, everyone had been putting their best effort into it, going out of their way to include him whenever possible... honoring the special things he brought to their team, just as they did each other.

A couple of years ago, their reaching out would have made him *really* uncomfortable. On the outside was where he was used to being -- where he felt like he belonged -- and he preferred it that way. It wasn't until he had lost the privilege of being on the inside, and started to want it back again, that he realized how much he wanted--no, *needed*--to be included.

Yet another bit of true humanity that he had discovered within himself.

Pushing away his existential thoughts, Angel quickly rifled through his extensive mental filing cabinet of creatures that he had encountered over the centuries.

"I'm not really familiar with either, to tell you the truth. But I know Kornaks have three or four very similar subspecies... almost identical except for a few minor details."

"You mean minor details like, oh, say... the fact they don't *die* when you chop their heads off with a really big axe?" Cordy shot at Wes, who gave her a smirk in response.

"Exactly," Angel confirmed with a chuckle, "Check the Kornaks, and you might be able to get a better handle on the Pootiadiep subspecies."

The front door creaked, and everyone looked up to watch Kate enter.

"Don't bother. I think I figured out what we're dealing with," the newest member of the team announced.

Kate had been a more useful addition to the group than any of them would have imagined. Between her years of detective experience, her extensive network of contacts around the city, and her most recent obsession with the supernatural, she had come to contribute far more than her fair share of assistance to their work.

As bizarre as the concept might have seemed a few months ago, she fit right in with their oddball family, serving as the perfect mediator between Cordelia and Wesley when their bickering got out of hand, and the best padding against hard feelings that Angel could have asked for himself during their transitional period. In fact, since his return to the fold, his former nemesis had become his most staunch defender, surpassing even Cordy in protectiveness of him. Angel almost found her enthusiasm toward him embarrassing.

But mostly, it was heartwarming. They exchanged a smile as Kate approached and took the seat beside him, giving him a pat on the knee.

"How ya feeling today?" she asked.

She asked the same question every day when she arrived. And every day, Angel was honest with her about his condition and state of mind. There was a strange connection between them, now, the origin of which was clear to everyone, even if the underlying meaning of it wasn't. Wesley was still trying to figure out how Angel had entered Kate's apartment without an invitation, since she hadn't been dead when he found her. He continually refused his colleagues' insistence that it was divine intervention.

"Nonsense!" he would splutter, "The Powers almost *never* directly intervene in the business of lower beings like that!"

Angel didn't bother reminding him of the dozen or so times They had stepped right into his life: his introduction to Buffy, his return from Hell, the mysterious Christmas snowfall, and the Day That Wasn't, to name only a few. Wes was a researcher on a rampage, and nothing would deter him from finding the answer he wanted to find.

The vampire suspected that his friend was already convinced, but his skeptic's training forced him to look beyond the simplest answer.

He turned his attention back to Kate. "What've you got?"

The tall blonde pulled a small notebook from her back pocket, and flipped it open. "I tracked down Merl and hit him up for word on the new subway dwellers."

"You got Merl to talk?" Wesley interrupted. "How? He vowed never to assist us again!"

Kate give him a look. "I *hit* him up." She turned a wry grin on Angel. "He was really very helpful."

"I'll bet," Angel chuckled.

"And... what'd you knock out of him?" Gunn asked.

"Well, after he was done threatening to sue us for the cost of his plastic surgery, he told me that the underground has got a few new occupants -- including these weird Pootiadieps."

"Ha!" Wesley yelped, "I TOLD you they were Pootiadiep!"

Kate cocked an eyebrow at him. "They are, but they're not. They're from a different dimension."

"Get out!" Gunn remarked.

"I'm serious. Apparently, some big mojomaker is getting ready to open a tightly locked portal to his particular branch office of Hell, and that's bringing all the evil things from that dimension who are trapped in this one running for a chance to hitch a ride home. Guess they don't like Earth much."

Angel's brow furrowed. "A dimensional portal. Did he know which one?"

Kate shook her head. "Nope. Guess that part's not common gossip. All he's heard is that the stars are just about in the right alignment, and all this demon bigwig needs now is a few human sacrifices and the key to open it. So all these weird demons are working on snatching the right candidates off the street to offer as bus fare."

"Lovely," Gunn grumbled, setting his axe on the floor. "Do we know who the Professor Snape is?"

Wes, Cordy, Angel and Kate all looked at him strangely.

"Don't you people *read*?" he snapped.

Kate turned away. "If you mean who the Big Bad is, no."

Angel sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "That would explain Cordy's vision. But we need more to go on than, 'some wizard is conducting some ritual to open the portal to some demon dimension.'"

"Like precisely which astrological alignment we're speaking of," Wesley ventured.

"And what the key is," Cordy added. "Maybe the Bizarro Pootiadieps know, and that's why I saw them in my vision instead of the wicked witch."

"Maybe," Angel agreed, "What we need to do is get a hold of one of the big uglies and find out what they know. If we can claim this key before they do, we might be able to shut them down."

The phone rang. "I'm thinking it's not going to be a nice, big, well-marked brass key sitting somewhere easy to find," Cordy lamented as she went to answer it.

"Probably a fair guess," Kate concurred.

"Angel investigations, we help the hopeless. How can we help... Oh, hey, Dawn! How are you?"

Angel's head shot up at the mention of the youngest Summers' name. Damn it. Every time he started to believe he could get Buffy out of his mind...

"What?! When?! How?!" Cordy's rapid-fire questions were edged with shock, and Angel immediately felt a cold dread clutch at his gut.

((Buffy's little sister calling.))

He got up.

Cordelia started to cry. "Oh, no! Oh... Dawnie... no..."

Angel walked toward her.

((She can't be dead. I would know.))

"I'm so sorry. Oh... God, Dawn... I don't believe it!"

He took another step, ignoring the others as they rose and converged on the sobbing brunette.

Why was he suddenly so damned heavy? Why couldn't he move any faster? Why did he ever leave Sunnydale? How would he be able to go on if something happened to Buffy?

A million years later, he arrived at Cordelia's side. She was shaking, tears running down her face as she listened to the girl at the other end of the line.

Angel stood statue still beside her, waiting, his mind going a thousand miles an hour even as abject terror froze every other inch of him.

He should have called her. He should have asked to see her. He at least should have told her how much he loved her one last time.

"Of course. He's right..." Cordy turned and jumped to find him hovering so close. "...here."

Angel stared at the phone she offered, and heard his friend speaking to him as though they were on opposite ends of a very long tunnel.

"It's Dawn..."

((Buffy can't be dead. Buffy can't be dead. Buffy can't be dead.))

"She really needs to talk to you..."

((I should have told her. I should have been there. I should have...))

He forced his hand to accept the receiver, and drag it to his ear.

((Oh, God, please. Don't let it be Buffy. Please.))

"Dawn?" he whispered.

"Angel? Ohmygod... OhGod, I'm so glad you're there. We need your help, please!" The girl broke down and sobbed. "It's Buffy... I... she's... my... please! Angel, we need you!"

He completely forgot how to breathe. It took all of his will to even find his voice again. "Dawn... what happened to Buffy? Calm down and tell me..."

"Angel? Is that you?" Giles' voice said. Dawn's crying faded into the background.

"G-giles... What's... did something... happen to Buffy?" he choked out.

((I can't do it. I can't do it knowing she's not there. I can't hear this. I can't...))

The Watcher sighed deeply. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

Angel felt his entire body begin to quake. Kate placed a comforting hand on his arm, as Gunn held a still-crying Cordelia. Wesley stood nearby, apprehension clear on his features as he listened to the one-sided conversation.

"For God's sake, please, Giles," Angel pleaded, his own tears quickly threatening to get the better of him, "Is she all right? She's not..."

((Oh, Christ. Don't say it. Don't say dead. She can't be dead.))

"No, no. It's nothing like that. Although... we are beginning to fear greatly for her mental health. Angel... Joyce passed away several days ago. Rather suddenly, of an aneurysm. Buffy herself found the body, and I'm afraid... she's not taking it very well. She's begun to..."

The Englishman went on, but Angel barely heard what he was saying. Half of his mind was reciting every barely-remembered prayer from his childhood, giving thanks to whatever Gods would listen that Buffy wasn't dead, while the other half was desperately trying to process the information that Joyce Summers *was*.

"We were hoping that you might... come. Talk to her," Giles was concluding.

Angel exhaled a breath that was at least five minutes old. "Of course. We'll be there in three hours," he replied, and hung up.

The others huddled in a tight, frightened circle around him.

"Has something ha-happened to... Buffy?" Wesley asked softly, causing Cordelia to cry harder.

The vampire glanced quickly at each of his dearest friends, then spun on his heel and marched upstairs, calling back over his shoulder, "Pack a bag. We're going to Sunnydale."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

((Roundhouse kick to head. Duck low. Sweep feet. Vamp falls. Jump up to crouch. Plunge stake upward. WHOOSH!))

Buffy stood and gave the cemetery's newest pile of dust a satisfied smirk, tucking her stake back into the waistband of her jeans.

"Who says there isn't order in the universe?" she asked nobody in particular. She pulled out her list of names of the recently deceased who'd died of "severe neck lacerations" which Willow had been kind enough to print out from the Coroner's Office for her, and put a line through "Joseph Wesler, Sr." with her pen. (( Next up: "Marjorie Johnson."))

This was exactly the way Death should work, in her opinion. A nice, tidy list of candidates in date order. Easy to predict. Converted to dust at exactly the planned moment. No surprises. They clawed their way out, she greeted them -- Final Death herself -- and poof, they were gone.

Of course, their initial death at the hands of some random vamp was doubtlessly unexpected. Joe Sr. was probably rushing home from work, late again, knowing his wife ((of 8 years, Kimberly, according to his obit the morning before last)), would be really pissed that he missed dinner *again*, and little Joe Jr. ((aged 6)) had that book report on "Where the Wild Things Are" due that he needed help with. So poor Big Joe was hurrying, not paying attention, dashing through his life the way he always did, and BAM! In a split second, he was a bloodless corpse, and Kimberly was crushed into numbness, and little Joey would never get help from his Dad to finish his book report or even see his Daddy again.

Buffy shook the thought away. There was no Joe Wesler, just "fledgling #5" on the list, and she wasn't going to terminate Marjorie Johnson, but "newbie #6." She refused to imagine Marjorie at all, considering the girl was younger than Buffy herself when she bit it -- so to speak, and had been walking home from track practice, trekking through the wrong demon-infested park at the wrong moment...

"Okay, that's it. Number 6, just get your ass up and let's get to it, alright? I have dishes waiting," the Slayer informed the brand new headstone ((Beloved Daughter)), and didn't at all consider the fact that 8 or 9 rows away, at plot #414 ((Nice trees)), her mother's head stone was to be erected first thing tomorrow. ((Roses and Angels model B17, inscription - `Joyce Marie Summers, 1960-2001, cherished Friend and Mother'. The one with the big angel on top with the fully spread wings, because everyone deserved to have an angel watching over them, and...))

Buffy bit her lip until she drew blood, and that particular train of thought vanished. Thinking about dead mom was strictly off limits, and thoughts of anything remotely angelic, even more so.

It wasn't that she didn't miss her ((with a pain that made her feel like her guts were ripping open)), it was just that -- who had the time or energy to dwell on it right now? Not her.

((I mean, I've got Dawn to think about -- in both an upset little sister and a key to an alternate dimension sense. And then, there's Glory... and the funeral and everything. Too much to do for moping, and besides, moping won't do anybody any good. It won't fill out the insurance forms or get the bills paid or keep the vamp population from exploding while I take a couple of minutes to cry...))

She had no intention of wasting a moment of what little time she might have left thinking about things she couldn't change. There were plenty of things she *could* have some effect on waiting for her attention.

Like the future serial killer who was starting to rise beneath her feet.

"It's about time," she complained to the turning earth, then stepped back to wait.

The newborn popped out of the grave with a snarl and an explosion of clay.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she deadpanned, "Just in time to meet your maker... metaphorically."

Buffy raised her stake and went to leap, but before her feet left the ground, strong arms grabbed her from behind, and a masculine hiss carried on putrid breath tickled her ear.

"Slayer!"

She kicked backward, throwing the newcomer off balance, and used the forward momentum to flip over the fledgling's head, landing on her feet facing both of them.

((Looks like the boyfriend bought it, too)), she observed as Sire and Childe stood together to square off against her, ((How romantic.))

It was the last coherent thought she had as the two young vampires charged her, and all her focus shifted into Slayer mode. Nothing in her brain but impulses shooting to her muscles -- instructions for strikes, counterstrikes, kicks, jumps and spins. Adrenaline screaming through her blood. These two were dead, her mom was dead, everybody she'd ever loved was gone, but she was still here, and this... the thrill of the fight, the sensation of sharp wood piercing flesh that would never rot, and in a blink, degenerating from solid to...

((Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.))

When her logical awareness broke through the combat haze, Buffy stood motionless, still shaking from the rush of the battle, and watched the remains of two former human beings float for a moment on the night breeze before disappearing into the earth.

Funny. These two late bloodsuckers were people, just a few days ago. Buffy had probably seen them at the supermarket, or passed them walking down the street, and never gave them a second thought... if she even gave them a first one. They probably used to walk, hand in hand, through this very graveyard. They probably pressed right up against that mausoleum over there, lips locked in love and passion, and never considered that any minute, they would be indistinguishable from the dirt under their feet. Two whole people who used to be alive, now mulch for the too-green grass. People with lives and families who missed them every minute of every day, and wanted to cry so badly... wanted to curl up in a ball and die, but they couldn't because there were mouths to feed and relatives to inform and vampires to slay, and besides... death was just something that happened. Everybody died, sooner or later, just some ((way too many)) sooner than others, and thinking about it or crying over it didn't change that, and they were really numb anyway. Wondering why and screaming `It's not FAIR!' to the heavens wouldn't stop Dawn from having nightmares or make her father stop being a selfish idiot, or bring Angel back so he could hold her, or...

((STOP!!!))

Taking a deep breath, Buffy slammed down the shutters in her mind, and pulled the list of risers out of her pocket again. She carefully crossed off #6, added #7 "Unknown" below it, then crossed that off, too.

"End of list," she announced to herself, crumpled up the paper and tossed it over her shoulder. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was barely 11 -- way ahead of schedule. The Slayer pulled another list out of the opposite pocket, crossed off "Patrol", and turned to complete the last task for the night: "Information gathering at Willy's."

She was so busy reading the list in her hand, she didn't see the lone figure lurking in the bushes until she ran right into it. Her vampire alarms immediately kicked to life ((a little late!)) and she fell into fighting stance, stake in hand, before she even looked up.

"Damn it, Spike!" she barked at the shadow. "Don't DO that!"

The blond vampire looked at her askance as he took a long drag off his cigarette. "Nice kill, Slayer. Not your best work, but..."

Buffy scowled at him and kept right on walking. He was *not* on her list of things to dust tonight -- although she still hoped someday soon he would be. "I don't have time for you."

((You don't have much time left.))

((Where the Hell did that come from?))

She took another couple of steps with Spike close on her heels, before something occurred to her. Spike was *here*. Stalking *her*. And that meant...

She spun, wild-eyed, almost causing him to plow right into her. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE??? You're supposed to be watching DAWN!" she screeched.

Spike shrugged and crushed his smoke out under his boot. "Changed my mind. Figured watching a Slayer going nutters was more fun than hanging out with a depressed young teen, waiting for absolutely nothing to happen."

Buffy's face changed, melting from annoyance to rage to utter terror in the space of a moment. Without comment, she turned and sprinted full speed out of the cemetery, and toward her house.

((Oh God. Dawn. Dawn's alone. Dawn could die. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.))

Despite his vampiric speed, Spike could barely keep up with the panicking Slayer. "She's fine! The others are... oh, bugger it."

In mere moments, they were crashing through the Summers' front door, barreling into the living room to find...

Six shocked faces looking up from a game of Monopoly.

"DAWN! OH GOD!" Buffy yelped, and grabbed her sister in a crushing embrace.

"Buffy... What's wrong? We were just..." the girl attempted to mollify.

Buffy held her out at arm's length, inspecting her frantically. "Are you okay? I was so worried! How long have..."

She finally noticed everyone staring at her, and took a step away.

"We were just playing Monopoly," Anya explained, "The money's not real, but... it's still satisfying to hoard it all." She gestured toward the seat where Dawn had recently been. "See? She's even winning. I mean, we were sort of letting her, but... OW!" The ex-demon shot a glare at Xander, who had just roughly elbowed her.

Buffy wasn't listening, anyway. Hysteria still pumped through her veins, but as she turned to look at Spike again, it quickly morphed to fury.

"You were supposed to WATCH HER!" she shouted, advancing on him.

He stepped back, holding his hands up defensively. "Seems to me you're the one needs watching, these days."

"I don't CARE what you think!" Buffy shrieked. "I can take care of MYSELF! SHE'S just a kid! What if Glory came for her, huh? You promised you would stay here and protect her! You PROMISED!"

Spike opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Buffy leapt, knocking him to the floor, and kneeled on his chest as she pounded his face, screaming, "YOU PROMISED YOU'D STAY! YOU PROMISED!"

Giles and Xander jumped to their feet and rushed over, their combined strength required to pull Buffy off the defenseless vampire. Once free of her attack, he sat up and scowled at her, wiping the blood off his nose and chin.

"Bloody Hell, Slayer!" he cried.

Buffy stood, restrained by her two friends, shaking uncontrollably, and muttering, "If you let anything happen to her, I'll fucking kill you. You promised, you bastard."

Giles spun her to face him and gently gave her a shake. "Buffy, stop this! Dawn is FINE! Look for yourself!"

She glanced, wild-eyed, at a terrified Dawn, now flanked by Willow, Tara, and Anya.

Her eyes returned to the Watcher's face once more. "He was... supposed to be... here. He promised he wouldn't leave her."

Giles' gaze was gentle. "We were all here with her. She was in no danger. We asked Spike to look after you on patrol, instead."

Buffy watched Xander help the blond to his feet. "Me? Why?"

"Because we're worried about you, Buffy," Willow replied, moving closer, "You're trying to do everything by yourself, and... it's too much!!"

The Slayer blinked and looked around at all the concerned (and one really pissed off) faces surrounding her. All of them... worried... about her...

The moment it registered in her mind, it was like someone flipped her emotional off-switch. Her body immediately stopped shaking, she stood up straight, gently pried herself from Giles' grasp, and gave them all a perfunctory smile.

"I'm sorry guys. I didn't mean to scare you. I promise, I'm fine. Really. I was just worried about Dawn."

"You're not fine," Xander corrected her.

"You can't keep on like this by yourself," Willow added, "We want to *help* you. Your *mom* just died, and you need time to..."

Buffy held up a hand to cut her off. "Guys. Thanks, but... I swear, I feel fine. I'm just trying to keep busy, that's all."

Dawn sagged down onto the couch and folded her legs up beneath her. Tara and Anya sat on either side of the girl, each putting an arm around her shoulders. She finally buried her face in the blonde witch's shoulder and started to cry.

"We know that all of this is difficult for you," Giles interjected softly, "But no good purpose would be served by driving yourself into the ground, would it?"

He watched as the closest thing he would ever have to a daughter turned to look at him once more, and again, he could see an abyss of pain threatening just beneath the surface of the bloodshot orbs.

"I just... can't," she murmured vaguely.

Willow put her arms around her best friend. "You're exhausted, Buffy. At least... lie down? Try to get some sleep? I promise, we'll all stay here and keep watch."

Buffy blinked at the redhead, but didn't reply.

Dawn stood up and approached her sister. "Buffy? I... I'm... tired. Will you... sleep with... me?" she sniffled.

She looked deep into the girl's blurry eyes. Her baby sister. The only thing Buffy had in the world. The only thing left that was really important.

Without a word, she reached out and pulled her into her arms, and led her upstairs.

The others watched them go, and then dejectedly returned to their seats, subdued and lost in their own thoughts.

Except for Spike, who leaned in the doorway with his head tilted back, plugging his nose. "Don' s`pose any a you brainiacs thought to call the Great Poufter," he complained bitterly, "Seems to me his big, brooding mass is jes' about what that crazy bi... Buffy needs right now."

"We've contacted him," Giles informed the glowering vampire, "He's on his way."

"S'bout bloody time," he grumbled, letting his head drop and checking his hand for blood. "That's the thanks I get for helping you lot. As usual."

Xander sighed and pulled Anya close to his side. "You may want to mark this on your calendars, guys, because I never thought you'd hear these words out of my mouth, but..." he glanced forlornly up at the stairwell, "I hope Dead Boy gets here soon."

"Indeed," Giles agreed, and set to putting their abandoned game away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	5. Chapter 5

_And when she walked in the room_  
_After so many years,_  
_He looked up and saw her._  
_He was standing at the crossroads,_  
_She was moving in slow motion._  
_Everything was the same,_  
_Except that everything was different._

_In that very moment_  
_Everyone was silent._  
_Everyone was friendly_  
_For the first time in years._  
_Everyone was smiling,_  
_Though their pain was apparent;_  
_And the floor was wet and slippery_  
_With the tracks of their tears._

\-- Stevie Nicks, "Touched by an Angel" 

**************************************************************************** 

It took almost an hour of constant sobbing for Dawn to finally relax enough to fall asleep, and even when she did, it was a shallow and fitful slumber. Buffy sat on the edge of her little sister's bed, watching her toss and turn, and envied her ability to even rest that little bit.

She wished she could do that. Just... stop. Just for a minute. She was so tired...every small movement hurt, and eventually, she knew her body would stage a revolt, and the end result would be her collapse from the stress. But what else could she do? Who else was going to take care of things? Her *dad*?

Her mind was full of a myriad of musings... another reason she couldn't stop. Ugly, dark, punishing thoughts. A billion regrets and 'what ifs' and 'I wishes'... but beyond those, even, her fondest wish of all was that she'd continue to be unable to really feel *anything*. Half the reason she didn't want to feel was the guilt - so much of it, in fact, that she was starting to wonder if she'd ever done anything right in her life at all.

Not all of it was new or mom-related, either. There were ancient, little regrets that snuck up on her like thieves in the shadows of her mind. All the trouble she'd gotten into in LA that finally split her parents up... putting her friends through Hell because they cared about her. She felt bad that Merrick died defending her. She felt bad for all the mean things she'd ever said to her mom, and all the times she'd been difficult, or made Joyce worry. She felt bad that she had to send Angel to Hell, and that when he came back, she hadn't loved him enough to make him want to stay. She felt bad for hurting Riley... for never really being able to love him the way he wanted.

But what she blamed herself worst of all for was not actually feeling any of these things. She knew about them, of course... she had all the requisite thoughts, but it was like a slideshow in her brain... she was standing somewhere outside her emotions, looking at a long list of facts and pictures without any substance at all. She was hollow... empty. There was nothing flowing through her but dust, as if her heart had finally just given up on her cursed existence, and moved out.

The numbness was what kept her going. Buffy couldn't sit still and think about all the things she'd lost or never would have that she couldn't find the energy to care about. If she kept moving, everybody remained safe and as happy as they could be, and she didn't have to be concerned about the fact that she couldn't feel.

Now even her body was rebelling... her Slayer senses were going haywire. She started getting that weird tingling in her toes that spread upward, like somebody ratcheted her circulation up a notch, and her womb cramped tight, her heart taking up a rapid beat...

Of all the damn things she should be feeling, why *that*? Spike wasn't vampire enough to set off her internal alarms anymore... hence the fact that he'd been so easily able to sneak up on her in the cemetery.

She sighed. Maybe she should take a sleeping pill or something to force her body to rest. Her friends were right, at least on that point. If her extra senses went all woggy now, she'd never be able to face Glory when the time came.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Buffy got up and cracked it open to find Willow on the other side.

"Hey, Will," she whispered.

"Hey. Is she..." the redhead nodded toward the bed behind her.

"Yeah," Buffy replied, and slipped out the door to join her best friend in the hall. "What's up? Is everything okay?"

Willow nodded, a strange little smile on her face. Buffy could immediately tell that her best friend was hiding something. Even after all these years, the witch still couldn't lie to save her life.

"Will... what's going on?"

She was barely repressing a smile. "You should probably come downstairs."

Buffy frowned. "Why, so everybody can yell at me about how unnaturally I'm behaving? No thanks."

Her friend's smile slipped at her sharp tone.

The Slayer felt bad about that, too. "I'm sorry. What is it?"

"Just... come down. Someone's here to see you."

Buffy shook her head. "I'm really not up for company."

Willow's face brightened so much, it was impossible to dismiss it. She took a hold of her best friend's arm, and led her toward the stairs.

"You really need to see this person," the redhead informed her.

*Now* Buffy felt something... nervous. Who the Hell could be there that would make Willow so jumpy?

Of course... this was the Hellmouth, and it was the middle of the night... so pretty much anyone would.

She shrugged and let her lead. It wasn't like she was going to sleep anyway.

***

Angel hadn't felt this awkward in... well, a couple of weeks, at least. But it was different than those first uncomfortable days with his friends -- Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn and Kate were *his* friends, and however angry they might have been, they *wanted* him there -- otherwise they would never have returned at all. And they certainly wouldn't have risked their lives to save him from the Feast of Souls.

But now... He knew full well that he was only sitting in Buffy's living room because they considered him their last resort. Not that the group wasn't trying to hide their misgivings. They were all perfectly polite. Even Xander had repressed his characteristic 'Angel-hating glower' when he shook the vampire's hand. But he could still smell their discomfort in his company... a clear pheromonal signal that he wasn't entirely welcome, and under different circumstances, he wouldn't be gladly received at all.

However reluctantly, for now, they accepted his presence. And as they took turns explaining the affairs of recent days, he understood why.

Giles did most of the talking, explaining briefly things that needed a great deal more than a momentary explanation. For example -- just what the Hell his GrandChilde was doing here, hovering around the doorway like some demonic bodyguard, glaring stakes at Angel. The chip scenario was so ridiculous he would have laughed, in almost any other situation. As it was, though, he simply made a mental note to keep a very sharp eye on the younger demon. Behavior modification or no, Spike was *not* to be trusted.

The brief conversation they shared while Willow went upstairs to get Buffy was more than enough to shatter his heart. How Joyce had been so desperately ill, and then seemed to recover completely. How Buffy had returned home one afternoon to find her mother's dead body splayed out on the couch... how she'd had to fetch Dawn from school... the episode at the morgue that night...

But worse than that was everyone's description of how Buffy was handling it -- or, rather, not handling it. As usual, his love had chosen to bear the entire weight of her burdens on her small shoulders, not allowing anyone to take even the smallest responsibility out of her hands.

"We're terrified, frankly," Giles concluded, "There are dire events unfolding in Sunnydale, and..."

The Watcher stopped at a creak from the stairs. Angel's heart squeezed tightly as he felt her approaching... that tingling in his toes, and the defensive clutch in his gut... heard her slow footsteps echoing in the hallway. He forced his eyes up to the staircase.

There she was. So different from the picture of her he tried not to dwell on, in his mind... and yet... still exactly the same. Her presence instantly filled the room with energy, enveloping his entire being in warmth, just the way it always had.

Angel stared at her, unable to move, speak, breathe, or even think anything beyond ((God... she's so beautiful...))

It had been such a long time since he'd laid eyes on her. Too long. So much had happened in between that forced him to push her memory away, but seeing her again... that unique glow all around her, even through her obvious exhaustion...

It all came back. Time stopped and flashed suddenly backwards, five years of his life washing through him in that single, electric moment when their eyes met across the room.

((Is there a problem, ma'am? Not as easy as it looks, is it? Do you think I want anything to happen to you? Do you think I could stand it? I am NOT jealous! What, vampires don't get jealous? You're the one freaky thing in my freaky world that still makes sense to me. I love you. I try not to, but I can't stop. You know what it's time for now? MY FUN! Buffy... what's happening? I don't remember. Close your eyes... Just this once, let me be strong...))

And he had been, for her. The only time in his miserable existence, up to that point, when he'd had any sense at all, and it was because of this tiny, magnificent creature standing, wide-eyed and trembling, a few feet away.

Everyone stayed completely still and silent.

"Angel?" Buffy said softly, in that same old way she had that made the word seem like an important question, rather than an observation.

Though his throat closed tight, and her pain shot through him like holy water in his veins, he gave her a tentative smile as he got to his feet.

Buffy blinked furiously up at him as he stepped toward her, as if she was trying to clear her vision of a suspected apparition.

"Hi, Buffy."

They were barely three feet apart when he halted.

"You... you're... here," she whispered.

He nodded, his gaze riveted to hers. "I am." He could see the agony... the weariness she was trying so frantically to hide written clearly in her face, like a book that only he could read.

Buffy was so tense that she shook, as if half her body was telling her to run, and the other half battling to force her to stay. Angel wanted nothing more desperately than to grab her... crush her in his arms and shield her from all this. From the circumstances of her life, which she'd never deserved or asked for... protect her from the pain... from mortality itself.

"Why?" she asked, so softly that he wasn't certain any of the humans in the room would have heard her. "Why are you here?"

He took a deep breath and straightened his posture, fighting to rein in his roiling emotions and scattered thoughts.

((I've come to take you away from all this. I love you, and I miss you so much, sometimes I think I might die from it. I don't care about being noble, or doing the right thing... I just don't want to be without you anymore.))

"Dawn called me. She told us about... your mom. We came as soon as we could."

Buffy's wild gaze ticked from his face to where Cordelia and Wesley sat on the sofa. As if her notice was their cue, the pair rose and joined the tense circle of Slayer and vampire.

"My sincere condolences, Buffy," Wesley said, leaning in to give her a gentle peck on the cheek. "Your mother was a very special person. I wish that I'd had the opportunity to know her better."

"Oh, Buffy!" Cordy yelped, and threw her arms around the smaller woman. "I'm so sorry! I liked your mom so much!"

Angel hung back, more than a little envious of their ability to express themselves so simply. Buffy stood rigid in Cordelia's embrace, her eyes still fixed on him.

The others sat quietly, watching the way their friend was shaking... how full her eyes were. Surely she would break any moment, and the true healing could begin... now that *he* was here.

But their hopes were dashed in a moment, when Buffy glanced away from the vampire, and returned Cordy's hug with enthusiasm. When she looked up once more, her eyes were clear, and her cardboard smile had returned.

Angel almost took a step away from her when he saw it.

"Thanks, guys," she gushed, pulling out of Cordy's arms, "It was really nice of you to come."

"We wanted to pay our respects," Wesley told her, "And to be of whatever assistance we may."

Her fake smile grew almost to an eerie leer. "That's really sweet, but... I have everything under control. You're welcome to stay here, of course... the funeral's the day after tomorrow, and there can never be too many sandwich makers, right? I can make up the guestroom for you, Cor, and... you guys will have to sleep on the couches," she shrugged, "I hope you don't mind. But, to make up for it, I've got a ton of really fluffy pillows..." Before anyone could respond to her babbling, Buffy dashed into the hallway, and came back loaded down with bedclothes. "You guys must be wiped! I'm sorry Dawn called you so late. I would have called myself, but I've been so busy..."

She tossed the mountain of linens on the couch, seemingly oblivious to all of the frightened faces watching her, even when she turned to look at the newcomers. "Would you like some coffee? And I made muffins this morning." The manic Slayer spun to Cordy and gave her a hollow chuckle. "Low fat cranberry. Not that you need low fat! You look *great*, by the way! I LOVE your hair!" She brushed the brunette's shorn locks quickly as she hurried by. "Angel, if you're hungry, I'm sure Spike can go fetch something from his crypt, right, Spike?" She gave another empty laugh that echoed behind her as she disappeared down the hall.

The crowd left in her wake exchanged looks, the Sunnydale faction's clearly saying, 'See?'

Angel stared at the last place Buffy stood, overwhelmed by the fear and sorrow he could scent on her skin... hear ringing beneath the cheerful tone of her continued rambling.

"Wesley, do you prefer 'Breakfast' or 'Earl Grey'? I forget!" she called from the kitchen.

The younger Englishman flashed a panicked look to Angel. "Er... really, Buffy, that's not..."

"Oh, please! You guys drove all this way, the least I can do is boil some water! And Cor -- wait 'til you see the cappuccino maker my mom bought a couple of weeks ago!"

The vampire looked up at the others, his face a mask of misery.

"This manic behavior is precisely what we we've been so concerned about, Angel," Giles explained. "She's been like this ever since..."

Without waiting for him to finish, Angel nodded, turned, and followed the path Buffy had just taken down the hall. When he arrived in the kitchen, he found her careening about like a cyclone of domesticity, tossing muffins in the toaster oven to warm, making tea, coffee, and cappuccino simultaneously, and pulling cups and plates out of the cupboard as if they might run away if she didn't capture them quickly enough.

He stood in the doorway for a long moment, and listened to their ghosts.

((Do you love me? What? Do you? I love you... I don't know if I trust you. Maybe you shouldn't do either.))

"Buffy..."

She spared a quick glance over her shoulder, but didn't stop moving, ducking instead into the fridge and pawing through the shelves. "Oh, good. Could you do me a favor and grab the tea tray on top of the china cabinet? I can't reach."

Angel hesitated for a second, then complied with her request, setting the silver platter on the island before moving to the other side, closer to her.

"Buffy, stop," he commanded softly.

She did and turned to look at him, her arms loaded with jam, butter, fresh fruit, and a carton of milk. He stepped forward and unloaded her cargo, setting everything on the counter beside her.

"What are you doing?" she objected, "I need to..."

He placed a firm, but gentle hand on each of her shoulders. "You need to stop this. We don't need tea, or coffee, or anything else. We're worried about you."

Buffy stared at one of his hands out of the corner of her eye for a moment, as though she couldn't understand what it was, or why it was there, before she gazed up at him once more.

((God... his eyes are so dark. I'd forgotten how really dark they are. And his hands are so big...))

She gently dislodged herself from his grip. "Me? I'm fine. If you want to worry about somebody, worry about Dawn. She's too young to understand any of this. Me, on the other hand," she quickly moved away again, and began pouring coffee into mugs she'd lined up on the counter. "Me and Death are old buds, remember? Really, Angel... everybody's just overreacting. I mean, yeah, I'm busy, but... not that much more than normal. I have a funeral to plan and a house to take care of, and Dawn's just coming apart..."

"Buffy," Angel interrupted.

Her chatter ceased and she turned once more, her hands braced tightly on the counter behind her. She shivered to see that look in his eyes... that wise, loving, concerned, uniquely 'Angel' look that made her stomach drop right to her toes, and a million moments where he had comforted her when they were... oh, God, so young...flashed through her mind.

((I'll never let anything happen to you if I can help it.))

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she snapped, "I said I'm *fine*."

Angel frowned. "You don't look fine to me. Or Giles, either."

Buffy snorted and whirled back to her task. "Giles needs to learn that I'm not a little kid anymore, and to mind his own damn business."

A little spark of frustration lit in Angel's gut. "He's anxious over you, Buffy. Everyone is. You're not sleeping... you're not eating. You need to take care of yourself. Now, more than ever."

Without warning, she spun and hurled one of the coffee cups at him. Angel ducked just in time, and it smashed against the far wall.

"I SAID I'M FINE!" she screeched. "GOD! Why doesn't anybody ever *listen* to me!? And what do you care, anyway? This is none of your business! You've got your shiny new life in L.A. -- what the Hell did you come back here for? I don't need you! I stopped needing you the moment you turned your back and walked away from me!"

Her words pounded him, and inside, Angel was reeling from their implications. Old, festering wounds that had nothing to do with the death of her mother raging to the surface, propelled by her stress. Hearing them made him want to escape...or curl up on the floor and cry himself. But if there was one thing he had become proficient in over the last couple of months, it was pushing pain aside in order to focus.

He did exactly that now, and faced her wrath squarely. "I came because I care about what happens to you. I know that you hurt, Buffy... I can *feel* it. You don't have to keep it all locked inside anymore. I'm here for you."

She made a derisive sound, halfway between a sob and a bitter guffaw. "You're HERE FOR ME? Oh my God that's so RICH! That might be the funniest thing I've heard in MONTHS!" She stepped toward him and got as close to being in his face as she could, considering the disparity in their heights, and shook a finger at him as she spat, "You have NOT been HERE for me! You don't have the first CLUE what my life's been like for the past TWO YEARS!"

Angel stood his ground. "No, I don't. And I'm sorry for that. But I'm willing to listen now, if you want to tell me."

Buffy blinked and backed away, her eyes filling with tears. "What, exactly, do you want me to tell you, Angel? Huh? That my mother -- my FORTY YEAR OLD MOTHER -- dropped dead of an aneurysm, and I found her corpse on the living room couch? Oh -- or do you want to hear how when I tried to give her CPR, I crushed her ribcage? It made this really loud, disgusting crunching noise, and the 911 operator said, 'Oh, don't worry, that's normal!', and then I went and puked all over the dining room floor, and then I had to go get Dawn from school! Do you know what she did when I told her our mother was DEAD??? She fell down right there in the hall in front of all her friends, and SCREAMED like someone was ripping her guts out! Is THAT what you want me to tell you about?"

He didn't blink. "If that's what you want to say."

Her face twisted with fury as she stalked back toward him. "HOW DARE YOU? I am NOT one of your precious LOST SOULS, ANGEL! How dare you walk in here and talk to me like we're FRIENDS, and you give even HALF a SHIT about me?! Who the Hell do you think you are? You're not my FRIEND! You haven't been anything at all to me in a very long time!" She took another slow step, "You have no RIGHT to come here and tell me how I should ACT about my MOTHER DYING! You have no IDEA what I feel! You ATE YOURS!"

Angel couldn't help but flinch at that verbal blow, but still maintained his stance.

Buffy kept coming closer, her voice rising in pitch as she ranted on, "I'm TWENTY YEARS OLD, and I have NOTHING! Nothing but the fate of the whole God damned WORLD in my hands, and a FOURTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL to raise by MYSELF! I can't go back to school next semester because I have to get a job to support us! THAT is the legacy my mother left me with!" Her voice broke, and the tears that had been gathering slid free, running in a torrent down her flushed cheeks. "So don't you DARE come waltzing in here like you CARE, and try to be all sweet and helpful and goddamn sanctimonious! YOU LEFT ME TOO, AND YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!!!"

The last word got louder, and exploded finally into a wail that made the window behind her rattle, before she collapsed, sagging toward the floor.

Angel thanked the Powers that he was quick enough to catch her, as he drew her hitching body tightly into his arms. She buried her face in his shirt, and pounded weakly on his chest.

"Why does everybody leave me? Why?" she keened, and then all words stopped as she dissolved into nothing but piteous sobs.

Angel sank down to the floor with his love in his lap, and wept right along with her, crying soft reassurances and endearments into her hair as he gently rocked her.

~~~

The crowd that had gathered in the doorway breathed a collective deep sigh of relief and crept silently down the hall, reconvening to the living room.

Cordy sank down onto the couch. "Believe me when I say I *never* thought I'd think this, let alone say it out loud, but... it's really good to see them together. Angel needed this so much, after..." Her eyes went wide as she realized what she was implying, and she shot a panicked glance at the rest of the group.

Wesley was right there to pick up the slack. "He's been a bit... out of sorts, lately. I think perhaps spending time with Buffy will do him some good."

Xander leaned over Cordelia. "That's more or less what I said. But... about Buffy."

"Something's wrong with Angel?" Willow asked.

"Oh, no. Things were... difficult for a while, in our part of the state, but... we're back on an even keel again, for the most part." Wesley responded, then turned to Giles, "Although, Mr. Giles, perhaps I can consult with you regarding a new case we're working on. With respect to demons from a parallel dimension."

Giles' face perked up. "Parallel dimensions? Certainly! As a matter of fact, we're faced with a similar sort of problem ourselves. A Hellgod, if you can imagine."

The younger Englishman became excited and shifted to sit next to the elder. "A Hellgod? Fascinating!"

The remaining people in the room rolled their eyes at one another.

"Bor-ing!" Anya announced, eliciting a look from her tactless predecessor, Cordelia. Which caused Willow to grin wider than she had in weeks.

"Well, I do believe that's our cue to slip away before this rockin' party gets too out of hand," Xander declared. "Giles? We're taking off."

The Watcher peered up from his conversation. "Yes. Do get some rest. And stay together, please. Be careful, and if anything untoward happens, beep me immediately."

"Got it, ' Dad'. Untowardly warning system on. See you later, Cor. Try not to have too much fun without us," he quipped, ignoring the return smirk he received from his ex, and herded the others toward the door, sparing a last glance in the direction of the kitchen as they left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	6. Chapter 6

_I thought once how Theocritus had sung_   
_Of the sweet years, the dear and wished for years_   
_Who each one in a gracious hand appears_   
_To bear a gift for mortals, old or young;_   
_And, as I mused it on his antique tongue,_   
_I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,_   
_The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,_   
_Those of my own life, who by turns had flung_   
_A shadow across me. Straight 'way I was 'ware_   
_So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move_   
_Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;_   
_And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, --_   
_"Guess now who holds thee?"-- "Death," I said. But there_   
_The silver answer rang -- "Not Death, but Love."_

\- "Sonnets from the Portuguese ##1" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

**************************************************************************** 

Angel wondered, for a moment -- had he ever done this for her before? Cradled her like a child, so tiny and boneless in his arms, the only sign of life her soft hitching as she wept with her face buried in his chest? His shirt was already soaked through, and the damp stung his skin like holy water -- had he ever seen her appear so utterly hopeless?

As he carried her up the stairs, hushed, excited tones drifted from the living room -- Giles and Wesley whispering. As he passed, he caught a glimpse of Cordelia and Spike, sitting at a safe distance from one another on opposite ends of the couch, playing cards.

Surreal... so much about the past four hours had been out of time... out of place, in his mind. From Dawn's phone call -- that endless minute he spent plunging into a cold pit of almost unbearable loss -- to the long, tense car ride to Sunnydale, which he'd spent lamenting the fact that he hadn't bought a sports car, because, goddamn it, Buffy needed him, and his ancient heap of junk did little more than crawl across the miles.

And now, there was this... laying his love gently down on the bed, gazing down at her as her long-remembered eyes, now red and swollen, looked back at him... Filled with tears and still-not-believing... brimming with the same unquenchable need for answers that he had been consumed with not so long ago. He could hardly believe that he was here... looking at her. He went through the motions of tucking her under the covers, but felt as though he was watching himself from far away... a dreamer on the outside, looking in at the dream.

"Stay with me?" she whispered.

That soft, hurting sound tore at the edges of his soul. How could he deny her anything when she spoke to him like that? He never could... not since that first time he heard her magical voice.

((Yeah, there's a problem! Why are you following me?))

"Of course," he promised, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Buffy kept staring at him, her eyes filled with questions that he knew he would never have the answers for, but she remained silent. He took her hand and raised it softly to his lips. With a sigh, her lids fluttered shut, breath and heartbeat slowing as her body finally drifted into badly needed sleep.

Yes, he would stay with her. This time, for as long as she needed him. Until the worst had passed, and the ground beneath her feet was solid and steady once more. Or at least... as stable as their violent, unpredictable lives could ever get.

It hurt to look at her... he was filled with that same sweet pain that she had always engendered in him, but now... now it was sharper. Knowing that if he wanted to, he could lie down beside her... he could kiss comfort into her lips... caress his presence, his love, into her skin... There was so little really standing between them, when the reasons why he'd left her in the first place seemed so... far away, now. So insignificant, in light of all the emotions that rushed through him just to be near her again. Just to smell her sweet, living scent, as tinged with sorrow as it was... to touch her soft hand... listen to the gentle music of her pulse and watch her butterfly lashes flutter over dreams that he hoped were sweeter than her reality. Just these simple things were like precious gifts from the Powers, and the entire world felt suddenly unreal, as if the two of them had somehow just... stepped out of it.

It had been so easy to pretend to forget when he was in L.A., a universe away, and all he had were faded memories that snuck, unbidden, into his busy thoughts from time to time. It was easy to tell himself it was over and that she was better off, when she wasn't right there beside him... when he couldn't feel her pain and need quite so acutely.

Angel never imagined she would still be so angry with him, after all this time. He assumed that she would have forgotten... put the memory of their agonizing relationship behind her once she fell in love again...

((I have someone new in my life. Someone I love. It's very different than what you and I had. And do you know what's different about it? I *know* him. I *trust* him.))

Buffy's angry words demolished something still raw and tender in his heart, that night. Ripped the scabs off barely healed wounds. But later, when he had time to think about what she'd said... and again, when he saw for himself how devoted her new lover was to her well-being... some part of him managed to be glad for her, despite the tearing anguish it caused.

But, he wondered, where was that stalwart knight, now? Why wasn't *he* the one sitting here, standing guard over her exhausted slumber? It was *his* place to be her strong shoulder, as he was the one who enjoyed the sacred privilege of her heart and... her body. So why the Hell wasn't he here?

Rage rushed through Angel like a wave of fire in his blood. Was this what he had left her for? Why he'd torn both their hearts out when he walked away, with nothing but sorrow and hope that she would find something better to fill the hole in the center of his being? Finn had everything that Angel ever dreamed of in the palms of his hands, and yet... she was alone now, with no strong arms around her, no promises of love and support but the ones that he gave her. He wasn't her lover -- Finn was -- so why was he here, playing the witless fool's part?

((The next time I see that little bastard, I'll rip his heart out and show it to him)), he vowed to himself.

But...whatever the reason and whatever his feelings about it, right now, Angel was the one by her side. Buffy needed him, and he would remain until that need subsided.

The door opened a crack, and a soft stream of light from the hallway illuminated Dawn from behind.

"Is Buffy okay?" she whispered loudly, "I heard her crying."

Angel tore himself from his beloved's side, and brought a forefinger to his lips to shush her sister as he stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind them.

"She's asleep," he answered softly, trying not to reveal the shock he felt to find that the person who stood before him wasn't the little girl he remembered so fondly, but a young woman only a few years younger than Buffy herself had been when they met.

Dawn let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Good. She's been really messed up lately." She smiled up at Angel and took his hand, giving it a warm squeeze. "I knew you'd be able to help."

He returned her smile, despite not being fully convinced that she was right. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

She rolled her eyes. "All I've done for the past week is sleep."

He chuckled and turned her toward her bedroom, herding her gently inside. "You're a teenager. You're supposed to sleep all the time. Now, get into bed."

Dawn complied, and Angel tucked her in. The moment took him back in time to his own youth, and how he would do just this for his sister on those few nights that he was home, and not keeping a barstool, or some stray wanton's bed, warm.

((Will ye tell me a story, Liam?

Yer too old for fairy tales, lamb. 

I dunna care. Tell me one anyhow. With a prince and a dragon. And happily ever after. 

*chuckle* All right, then. Once upon a time, there was a fair princess named Katherine...))

Angel brushed Dawn's hair out of her face... that same burnt honey silk as Kathy's had been... and waited for her to settle in before he got up.

"Get some sleep, okay?"

"Angel..."

He stopped and gazed down at her. *Now* she looked young... so small and frightened...

"Yeah?"

"Could you, um... will you stay for a little bit? I don't want to be... I mean... just until I fall asleep?"

He retook his seat. "Sure."

"Thanks," she said with a shy smile, and laid back down. "Do you remember the first time we met?"

"How could I not? You attacked me with that double barrel, pump action super soaker squirt gun thing," he chuckled, "I had to go home and put on a dry shirt. It's sort of difficult to forget a first impression like that."

Dawn laughed, but the sound was closer to sad than amused. "Yeah. Buffy was so mad... she yelled at me for like, an hour. She said if I'd scared you off, she was going to chop me up and feed me down the garbage disposal in pieces."

After sharing a brief laugh, they lapsed into a silence that was surprisingly comfortable, until Dawn spoke once again.

"Angel...what's Hell like?"

He flinched, his eyes ticking to her in shock. "Why would you ask me that?" Certainly Buffy wouldn't have told her about...

She shrugged. "I read all Giles' journals."

He couldn't help but smile, despite the disturbing question. Fourteen years old or not, she was still fully Dawn.

"It's not fun," he replied vaguely.

She turned her too wise eyes to him, and gave him a reproachful scowl. "I'm not a little kid anymore, Angel. I want to know."

He considered her serious, determined demeanor... but not even for a moment that he would tell her anything he remembered about his time in the demon dimension. No matter how grown up she might seem, she was still little more than a child, and he could hardly bear those memories himself.

But... he had always made it his duty to be as honest with Dawn as possible. She was too smart to lie to, and it was an understandable -- albeit heart-wrenching-- question for a girl who had just lost her mother.

"You don't see many humans there, if that's what you're asking."

Her pretty eyes sparkled in the moonlight as she studied him -- no doubt trying to gauge the integrity of his response.

"Oh," was her unsatisfied reply.

Angel turned to face her fully. "Dawn... if you're trying to muddle out what happens to humans when they pass on... I don't have that answer for you. I doubt anyone does but the dead themselves."

Her little brow scrunched tight. "But you died, right? I mean... before you became a vampire..."

He nodded. "Yes, but that's different. That's not natural death."

There was no way he was going to tell her that what he remembered of his human death was... just ceasing to be. Drunken Liam on his knees with his face buried in the cold bosom of a beautiful noblewoman in a damp, filthy alley, and then... nothing. Not a single sensation until the stink of decaying earth, the clutch of furious hunger in his belly... the sound of worms crawling, and the echo of his Sire's footsteps from above called him back into the world three nights later.

But he had to tell her something. She deserved some sort of answer that would lighten the burden of her fear, if only the smallest bit, while still remaining in the realm of truth.

And then he remembered... The Feast of Souls... the sensation of freedom... the light he had discovered on the other side of the darkness. He used to believe that stories of the beloved lost waiting to meet the dead when they crossed over were fairy tales meant to comfort children exactly like the one waiting for his response... like the one he had been, lifetimes ago. Only now, he knew from experience that they were true.

"I do remember some of what my soul experienced in the ether, though..."

Dawn peered at him once more and clutched the covers tightly, her little knuckles turning white as she stared at him with silent entreaty.

"You do? What... what was it like?"

Her voice was so tiny, Angel wanted to weep for her--for all the innocence she'd lost in one fell stroke of ugly chance.

((Just like her sister before her.))

"My father came to meet me."

She sat up, her eyes wide. "Really?"

Angel nodded. "He told me that he was proud of what I'd done with my life. He looked happy... content. And he said that he..." he swallowed stiffly, refusing to let his tears interrupt, "That he's... watching over me."

Dawn's own eyes filled, her bottom lip trembling. She slowly eased back down to her pillows and gave the vampire a sad smile.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," she accused.

"That's the reason I'm telling you, yes," he conceded, "But it's still the truth. I've never lied to you before, have I?"

She shook her head, and his heart swelled with fondness and sympathy for the girl who had once, to his heart, almost been like a sister. He leaned down and kissed her softly on the forehead.

Dawn blinked up at him as he pulled away. "You know... Riley's gone, too. He said Buffy didn't love him, and he couldn't take it, so he left."

Angel felt his jaw clench tight -- that was *not* the explanation for Finn's absence that he had been hoping for. He had no idea how to respond, so he said nothing, pulled the comforter tight over Dawn's shoulders again and concentrated on her breathing, instead.

"She didn't, either," she went on, "She tried to love him, I think, but... she couldn't. She still loves you. But... well... he left, and Spike started following her around..."

The young woman must have noticed his dark look.

"It's okay, though," Dawn backpedaled, "I mean, it was creepy and everything, but all he did at first was lurk around, you know... brought her candy and stuff... She'd never like him anyway, because... well, the whole evil thing. And then the Dru thing happened, and that was pretty much the end of that."

Part of Angel desperately wished she would stop talking... yes, these were the very things he had been lamenting missing in Buffy's life, but... So far, he hadn't heard a single one that lessened his concern for her.

"Drusilla was *here*? In Sunnydale?" It was a miracle any of them were left alive at all, considering his Childe's state of mind when he last saw her...

((Screaming... on fire...))

Naturally, that line of thought brought back even less welcome memories... Darla's eyes wide in terror as Drusilla drank her... Darla at the wrong end of a sword that ran through his intestines... Darla naked beneath him, crying out his name in ecstasy as he tried to lose himself inside of her...

"Yeah. Spike kidnapped both of them and chained them up in his lair," Dawn reported, as thought she was spreading a juicy piece of gossip with one of her girlfriends, "And then he was all, 'I'll stake Dru to prove that I love you!' and Buffy was like, 'Ew... as if!' and so he threatened to kill her if she wouldn't love him, but of course, he can't because of the chip, so... Then Harmony walks in and..."

Angel was feeling suddenly very overwhelmed. And infuriated. And... really confused.

"Wait... Harmony? *Cordelia's* friend Harmony?"

"She's a vampire, now," Dawn explained, "Her and Spike used to live together."

((Good God... this is like some twisted soap opera...I wonder if Cordy knew about this.)) "Ah."

"So anyway... Harmony shot Spike with a crossbow, and they started fighting... and Drusilla got free and went after Buffy..."

"She *did*?!" ((Worse and worse. When I get my hands on that...))

"Yeah, but Spike saved her. It was a whole big thing. None of us would talk to him at all for a while, right up until..."

She trailed off, not needing to finish her sentence. Angel sat, trying to let all of the implications of what she'd been telling him sink in. What had any of them been thinking by trusting Spike in the first place? And Dru...

Yet another on his long list of crimes. Though it was too late to do anything about her now, he vowed to have a talk with her Childe. Maybe Spike had gone too long without a Master to keep him in line...

"So... he's been helping out the last few days. Buffy thinks he's watching out for me, but... he's really mostly guarding her. Because... you know... she's all... " She circled a forefinger around her ear in the universal sign for cuckoo. "Besides... he wouldn't be any good against Glory, anyway. Last time he tried, he got his butt kicked, and she almost got me."

"Dawn...slow down. Too many facts, here. Who is Glory?"

Her face sagged into a deep frown. "She's the big bad right now. I guess she's some kind of demon goddess or something."

"What does she want with you?" Angel wondered aloud.

Dawn shrugged and looked quickly away. "It's a long story. Mr. Giles could..." she yawned, "probably explain it better than me." She slipped a small hand under her pillow as her eyes drooped, then closed.

Angel waited for a moment, and when she remained silent, he rose and headed for the door. Just as he reached out for the knob, he heard Dawn whisper,

"I missed you, Angel..."

He paused, but didn't turn around.

"But not as much as Buffy does."

Closing his eyes, he struggled to contain the urge to cry. "I missed you both, too," he replied. "Good night, Dawn."

"Night."

Angel stepped out into the hallway and leaned back against the door before he finally allowed his tears to fall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	7. Chapter 7

After checking on Buffy and finding her still sound asleep, Angel returned downstairs to report to the others. They'd all been so worried about her... and apparently, they had even more good reason to do so than he'd imagined.

He was still reeling a bit from the scene with her in the kitchen, as well as all the information Dawn had given him. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Buffy crack under pressure -- the years they worked together had tested her mettle time and time again. For the most part, she came through every challenge with a snappy quip and that sunshine smile on her face. Others, though... well... she was only human, Slayer or no, and was expected to shoulder so much more than one young, tenderhearted woman should be expected to. It was only natural that sometimes her armor cracked.

Her irrational rage hurt him, of course. If there was anything Buffy seemed instinctively to excel at, it was how to lash out in the most painful, effective way possible. Like a wounded animal, she managed to make whoever was unlucky enough to be in the vicinity when she reached her breaking point hurt, too.

But he couldn't be upset with her. Well... he *could*, and some small part of him that had learned to recognize his self-worth, was. Still... he had expected no less than the worst she had to dish out, under the circumstances. And after all, there wasn't one thing that she'd said that wasn't, in the strictest sense, true.

What *was* he doing here? Who *did* he think he was not to speak to her for a year, and then suddenly reappear at the lowest moment of her life, rushing to her rescue like some fairy tale prince? They barely knew one another anymore. And hadn't he been thinking just a few days ago that she was better off without him in her life? That they had both reached an equilibrium that kept the worst of the pain at bay, and allowed them to move on?

As usual, the more grandiose his plans, the more spectacularly they failed.

It was instinct, to come to her. He hadn't stopped to consider the far-reaching ramifications of this kind of emotionally loaded reunion. All he knew was that the only woman he had ever loved was in pain -- and he had to help her.

He'd been kidding himself all this time. Whether it was good for either of them was irrelevant--his heart was as firmly bound to hers today as it was two years ago, and when she was in trouble, he had done the only thing he could do. Run to her side.

Really, though... wasn't this his Destiny, anyway? Wasn't his reason for coming to Sunnydale part and parcel of the mission he'd vowed to undertake -- reaching out to souls in need, helping the hopeless? Hadn't his epiphany been that the only thing worth doing in the world was giving -- now. in the moment, for its own sake and no other?

If there was one being in all the dimensions that needed those things right now, it was Buffy. Their personal issues and painful history aside, she needed support, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Maybe his arrival had hurt her -- as much as it hurt him. Maybe simply by showing up tonight, he had broken something tenuous inside her.

But maybe it was something that needed to be broken. In himself, as well as in Buffy. As much as she needed to learn how to share her burdens, he needed to be reminded of the very thing that had set him on the path to redemption to begin with. Her.

His brooding came to a halt when he arrived in the living room doorway once more. Cordy slept peacefully, curled up under half the blankets Buffy had provided on one couch, while the two Englishmen sat side by side on the other, still speaking animatedly over their long-forgotten tea.

And Spike... Spike sat on the floor with his face not three inches from the television, knocking back a bottle of beer.

Just the sight of his peroxide blond head caused a shot of feral rage to blaze straight through Angel's bloodstream. The whelp had *touched* her -- his *mate*. He *dared* lay a finger on her, when she had shown him enough mercy to take him in, instead of just *staking* him, and saving herself a lot of trouble. Now the bastard sat there like he was just another one of the family, watching the late movie as though nothing had happened? Oh, no. This wouldn't do at all.

The younger vampire glanced up, sensing Angel's approach... his eyes narrowed as he noted his GrandSire's murderous glare, and scented his protective fury. He snarled softly under his un-breath, and turned back to the television.

Angel tensed. If they were alone, or among other vampires, Spike's behavior would earn him a quick and thorough beating for disrespecting his elders...

But this was not some demon lair... it was Buffy's suburban living room, and the exchange attracted the attention of the two very civilized men on the couch. Both were clearly in 'fascinating research' mode, and hadn't noticed his entry, but now apprehension clouded over both faces.

He set thoughts of Spike aside... for now. He suspected that Giles and Wesley were about to tell him something else that he didn't want to hear.

Giles' expression softened. "How is she?"

Angel looked deeply into the Watcher's kind blue eyes, and felt some of his old admiration for the man return. Here was Buffy's true father, no matter what genetics might say.

"She's sleeping," he reported.

The elder man smiled wearily, and pulled off his glasses. But instead of his usual habit of cleaning them, he rubbed his bleary eyes. "Thank God. I was... we were frantic." He replaced his glasses and met the vampire's gaze once more. "Thank you, Angel. I'm glad you came."

The warmth and sincerity that leaked into his voice was like a balm for yet another old wound on Angel's soul. Despite all the things that had passed between he and the Watcher -- those good and horrible -- it was still ultimately Buffy's welfare that meant the most to them both.

"So am I," he replied. And he meant it.

Wesley looked relieved as well, but beneath, Angel could still see his wheels turning.

"I'm certainly glad that Buffy is feeling better, but... There are some things happening here, Angel, which I believe have a direct bearing on what we discovered just before we left Los Angeles."

Angel stood still for a moment without responding, torn between two very different duties -- his work, and the need to be near Buffy if she woke. He knew he should sit down, right now... hear what the two men had to say... try to find some way to help. After all, a dimensional portal to Hell was Armageddon to everyone on the planet, not exclusively one of their teams or the other... and if this 'Glory' was the sorcerer Merl had told them about...

But... upstairs, his reason for having a purpose at all lay sleeping fitfully in her bed, weighed down with grief.

Which to handle first?

He sighed. Buffy would be all right for a few minutes, at least. He eased into the empty chair alongside the couch where the two ex-Watchers sat, and tried to ignore the ache in his still-mending bones.

"What've you got?"

Wesley leaned toward him, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Cordelia. "It would seem that Buffy and the others are facing the wrath of a rather... insane Hellgod, who is trapped in this dimension...."

"Glory," Angel cut in. "Dawn mentioned her."

Giles looked surprised. "She did?"

"Yes. She also let it slip that this Hellgod is after Dawn herself, and that you post watch over her 24-hours a day. What I want to know is... what does this demon goddess want with a fourteen-year-old girl? Even if she is the sister of the Slayer."

"Do you recall that Kate told us that this upcoming ritual required human sacrifices... and a key?"

Angel felt a brand-new fear and rage clutch at his already raw heart to imagine that Dawn was in danger of becoming a sacrifice for some psychotic monster's plans to destroy the world...

"I remember," he growled.

Giles looked the vampire in the eye. "Dawn is the Key."

Before the shock of that revelation wore off, Wesley continued. "It would appear that the unusual demons we encountered are from the same dimension as this 'Glory'. The pending ritual will open the portal to their home... Giles believes, within a fortnight. She needs the Key...Dawn...to do so."

Angel closed his eyes. Apparently, Buffy was bearing even heavier burdens than the worst he had been imagining. No wonder she was in such dire shape.

He looked up at the two men once more, his face set with fierce determination. "Then we have to protect her -- at any cost. If Glory finds out that Dawn's the Key, and what's going on with Buffy... she may consider this as the perfect opportunity to act."

"Giles and I are pooling our resources -- trying to find some way to stop the ritual and destroy Glory. He's been reinstated by the Watcher's Council, and they are working, as well," Wesley informed him.

"If the increase in demonic activity is any indication, time is running short -- both for us, and for Glory," Giles added, "The Council has provided us with information regarding the upcoming convergence, as well as what they believe to be the ritual that Glory will require to open the gate. Unfortunately, what we don't fully comprehend is Glory's true nature, the extent of her power... or the details in regards to Dawn's part in this."

Angel shook his head. "I still don't understand how Dawn could be the Key -- has she been... cursed, somehow? Possessed?"

"No, nothing like that." The Watcher sighed and sipped his tea. "There is a great deal more that you need to know regarding this situation, but the underlying fact is... Dawn is not who any of us remember her to be. In fact... we don't believe that she has truly been among us for more than six or seven months."

Angel frowned darkly. "That's impossible. I clearly remember..."

"That's just it," Giles interceded, "Our memories are false. Implanted. The sect of monks who've stood guard over the Key for centuries fabricated them. Dawn was, in simplest terms, a being of pure energy. When the convergence threatened, and Glory managed to track down these monks, they executed some highly complicated magick to give her human form, and sent her where they believed she would be best defended."

Angel sank back in the chair. "To Buffy."

Giles nodded gravely. "I'm afraid so. And to ensure that the Slayer would guard the Key with her life, they created an elaborate web of spells to convince everyone around her -- including Dawn herself -- that she was, and always had been, Buffy's younger sister. It was entirely by accident that we discovered her true nature at all."

Angel pressed his fingertips into his tired eyes. Now he understood why Dawn had asked if he remembered when they met -- she was testing to see if he'd been effected by the spell. His heart broke for the sisters for the hundredth time that night.

"So, she knows, then," he ventured wearily.

"Yes," Giles replied, "She knows."

((God... poor kid.))

"Does demon goddess know?" Angel asked.

Giles shrugged. "We can't be certain, but... the very fact that she hasn't made any direct threat to Dawn herself, despite ample opportunity, we have to assume not. We don't, however, know how long that state of affairs will continue."

"There are a great many demons working their way from Los Angeles to the Hellmouth," Wesley added, "Any one of them may know or discern the identity of the Key."

Angel took a deep breath and got up. "I'm going to call Kate and see if she's found out anything new. Put Gunn's team on full alert, just in case."

Wesley nodded his agreement. "Considering the circumstances, I believe that would be wise."

"So long as we safeguard Dawn, I believe we have sufficient time to prepare... and deal with... other matters at hand," the elder Englishman added.

Other matters at hand. Buffy's depression. Her mother's funeral. Angel's heart ached anew for her -- her mother was dead, her sister wasn't her sister, and yet another world in peril situation -- possibly the worst she had ever faced -- lay before her.

"We'll do everything we can" he promised, and claimed his cell phone from his jacket as he headed for the kitchen.

He realized as he listened to the ringing on the other end, that he was exhausted... and famished. He hadn't fed before he left LA, and he still hadn't fully recovered from his injuries. He would need to feed and sleep soon, if he was going to be strong enough to face the days ahead.

As much as he loathed the necessity, now he too would have to depend on Spike.

Kate's voicemail picked up. "Kate, it's me. We have information regarding the alligators. Call me on my cell as soon as you get this. And have Gunn put his guys on alert... we may need them at a moment's notice."

He hung up and sighed, steeling himself for the distasteful task of asking a favor of his GrandChilde.

As if on cue, the blond vampire appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Need another beer," he announced, opening the cabinet under the sink and tossing his empty into the container there, before swinging open the fridge and grabbing another, as if he did this all the time.

Angel couldn't help but bristle at his gall. What he really wanted to do was beat Spike into the linoleum, not call an uneasy, utterly undesirable truce with him. He suppressed a growl that threatened to tear from his gut, and decided to give diplomacy a chance.

"Spike... I need a favor," he spat.

The blond smirked at him and leaned lazily back against the refrigerator door, his arms crossed over his chest. "Feeling peckish, Peaches?"

Angel felt himself start to shake, and clenched his fists tightly against his sides to fight back the urge to punch him in his smug face. "I would... appreciate it... if you could lend me some blood."

The younger vampire's smirk grew, and he took a step toward the elder, tilting his head to the side, offering his throat. "How 'bout a little taste of the old family stock?"

Angel didn't bother to check his snarl this time, eliciting a cold laugh from Spike.

"Didn't think so. I'd be happy to go fetch you a nice O-pos, precious. But first, tell me... how's my lovely GrandDam, these days? Heard you and she were trying to work things out for a bit," he drawled, cracking open his beer and draining it in a few swallows, his eyes never leaving Angel's face.

"That's none of your business," Angel growled.

Spike gave a satisfied smack, and set his empty on the counter before looking at his GrandSire again. "No? Hm. Well... if you're hungry, I suspect you'll have to make it my business. Unless you plan on taking up hunting again? Nah... So Dru tells me she and the old bag really did a number on you. Rocketed your broody ass right over the edge... I gotta tell ya, I'm pretty bloody well sorry I wasn't there to see it." He looked the elder man up and down. "Ya look okay to me, though. Lemme guess -- after the arson incident, you finally staked the bitch permanent-like."

Angel turned his back on him and stomped out of the kitchen. "Keep your blood, Spike. I'll get my own."

The blond followed. "Where's that, the twenty-four hour butcher? Sorry... SunnyHole hasn't got one. Maybe the Slayer'll give you another taste, eh?"

Angel halted in his tracks at the foot of the stairs, spun, and grabbed the younger vampire by the shirt, hauling him up so they were face to face. His demon face.

"You'd do well to keep your filthy mouth *shut*, boy!" he hissed. "After that stunt you pulled with Buffy, you're lucky I don't just do everyone a favor and rip your head off right here and now."

Spike chuckled and wrenched himself out of his GrandSire's grip. "Ya fucked the bitch, didn't ya? HA! And look at you--still all soul-ey... what... Darla losing her touch? Poor Fluffy... guess the old Sire isn't the bearer of Perfect Happiness, huh? Well, you know... they don't call Buffy 'one bint in all the world' for nothin'."

Without a word, Angel hauled off and laid Spike flat with a vicious blow. He flew down the hall, crashed into the china cabinet, and crumpled to the floor, laughing even as he licked the blood from his split lip. Wesley, Giles, and a bleary-eyed Cordelia came running.

"You did!" Spike chortled, "You fucked her, ya stupid ponce! Still a bloody fledge deep down, arencha? Sire calls, and you come running with grunties leadin' the way! You haven't changed a bit -- still Darla's little bitch, underneath all that superhero bluster! Dru told me you'd buckle, but I didn't believe it!"

"Angel, what's..." Cordy tried to interrupt.

He held up a hand to silence her. "Leave us be. I'll take care of this." He took a few menacing steps toward Spike, who had just struggled to his feet in the kitchen doorway. "Listen to me *very* carefully, Spike. You won't say that name again, do you understand? My relationship with Darla is none of your concern, and if you so much as *breathe* any of what Drusilla told you in front of Buffy, I *will* destroy you, once and for all."

"What did Drusilla tell him?" came a soft voice from the stairs.

Angel spun to find Buffy staring at him. He swallowed stiffly, and allowed his human features to return. "Buffy. Nothing. It's okay. Go back to bed."

The Slayer came down the stairs, not looking at Angel, now, but Spike. "WHAT did Drusilla tell you?" she repeated.

Spike shrugged. "Jes' that her and Darla were working together with some bigwig lawyers to drive the great poufter here straight out of his goody-goody tree."

Buffy turned her angry, confused eyes to Angel once more. "What is he talking about? Darla? She's... you... *killed her*."

The younger vampire swaggered down the hall toward them. "Lawyers brought her back from Hell to torture our Peaches, didn't they? Did a fairly good job, I'd say, considering he said 'screw the Curse' and fucked the bitch."

Cordelia shot into the hall, menacing the blond demon. "Spike, SHUT UP!"

"You WHAT?" Buffy yelped, now fully focused on Angel again.

He kept his eyes nailed to the floor, and said nothing.

"Buffy, I'm certain that you can't trust what Spike says," Wesley intervened, "He's simply trying to make trouble."

"No, I'm not! Well... okay, yeah I am, but... are you all trying to tell me he *didn' t* bang her? Look at him! Bastard looks awfully guilty to me! Not that that's new," Spike commented, motioning toward his chagrined elder.

Wesley and Cordelia exchanged frantic looks. Now was *not* the time to rehash Angel's recent difficulties.

Buffy backed slowly away from him, shaking her head. "I don't... understand."

"Buffy," Cordy said softly, "It's not what you think."

"Angel?" the Slayer whispered, even as she continued backing away, her eyes wide.

He remained silent.

((Not like this. Not now, please.))

Spike shoved by the tense clutch of friends and grabbed his duster from the chair. "Well, I see my work here is done. I'll just pop round the crypt and grab us creatures of the night a bite then, shall I, GrandSire? I'm sure you and the Slayer have plenty to talk about in the meantime."

Giles shot him a withering glare as the vampire disappeared out the front door.

Buffy stopped at the foot of the stairs. "It's not true, is it? You didn't..."

Angel finally raised his eyes to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't want..."

She looked closely into his face, and saw the truth he was trying to hide written clearly, there. With an agonized gasp, she turned and ran up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

Everyone stood, dazed, for a heartbeat.

Cordy put a hand on his arm. "Why don't you talk to her? Tell her what happened? It' ll be good for both of you."

Angel looked into his best friend's eyes, then back up at where Buffy had just been. "I didn't want her to know, Cor. It's too complicated to explain, and... she wouldn't understand. Especially not right now."

"It's true, then?" Giles spoke up, "You... your Sire isn't... dead? How is that possible?"

Wesley took him by the shoulder and led the bewildered man back toward the living room. "I'll explain as best I can, Rupert. You see, we've had some trouble with a law firm called Wolfram and Hart, and they..."

Cordy put her arm around Angel's shoulders and gave him a comforting squeeze. "Don't sell Buffy short, Angel. Remember what happened the last time you underestimated your friends?"

He looked at her, his eyes filling with tears again. "She has enough to worry about, don't you think? I didn't want to give her any more. That's not why I came."

She reached up and wiped a teardrop from his cheek. "Well, all good intentions aside, the cat's out of the bag now. Don't you think that the truth would be better than whatever she's thinking?"

Angel closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. He in no way even wanted to *think* about Darla, let alone have to explain what happened to an already distraught Buffy.

But Cordy was right. Spike had already fueled the fire... only the truth might help curb it from flaming into an inferno. And irrevocably damaging the already tenuous bond between them.

"I'm not so sure," he murmured, and climbed up the stairs

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	8. Chapter 8

_It's finally come._   
_Is that 'sorry' on your breath?_   
_Where were you when I was sitting back here_   
_Missing you to death?_   
_It don't matter now._

_How I want to know,_   
_Can you tell me plain and true?_   
_How high will you fly_   
_Without me there to be your sky?_   
_It don't matter now._

_I don't mean to leave you standing on your own_   
_I think back to days and nights we had long ago._   
_Maybe love is just a game you play,_   
_But this much I do know:_   
_It don't matter now._

_Now, I don't tell stories, and I don't pretend._   
_But I won't be around to say 'I told you then.'_   
_'Cause it seems like something's finally broken_   
_That'll take a while to mend._   
_But it don't matter now._

\- Allison Krauss, "It Doesn't Matter Now"

 

**************************************************************************** 

The room seemed, by all outward appearances, exactly the same as it was when he left it less than an hour before: dark and cool, the spring breeze floating lazily in through the window that was once his personal gate to the Heaven that was Buffy.

But the air was perfumed by something more than the scent of damp earth and the first hint of flowers blossoming. More, even, than months of unshed tears and the slight, musky decay of hope disintegrating. Now, Angel could smell her anger... curses against the Fates and unimaginable pain there, too.

Buffy sat in her rocking chair, staring out that very window, her tiny form lit to silver and shadows by the setting moon.

She straightened when she sensed his arrival. "I don't want you here, Angel," she declared, no hint of confusion or weakness, sorrow or anger in her voice, only cold certainty. "I want you to go."

If he had been merely human, and not gifted with nigh on 250-year old hunter's senses, not known her as well as he knew himself--probably better--he might have believed her. As it was, it still hurt to hear her voice so devoid of emotion, and know that he, once again, was the source of her pain.

"Let me explain," he offered, trying to keep the shivering that consumed his body from his voice.

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Explain what? You don't owe me any explanations." She opened her eyes once more, her gaze never leaving the window, as though she was speaking directly to the night... or maybe to the specters of who they once were that sat on the sill, sharing innocent kisses and dreaming fruitless dreams. "I know you meant well by coming, and... I'm really sorry for what I said earlier. You were just being..." she chuckled bitterly, "You were just being you, and as usual, I was just being the psycho-selfish bitch from Hell. It wasn't fair, and I'm sorry."

Angel stepped the rest of the way into the room, and sat down on the corner of her bed. "You don't need to apologize, Buffy."

Still not looking at him, she shook her head, and turned her focus to her hands folded in her lap, instead. "I can't do this right now. I don't *want* to do this. There's too much to say, and it's been too long... I think you should leave. Please."

He stared at the floor beneath his feet -- even the pattern of her carpet was achingly familiar. Not so long ago, he would have agreed -- almost been glad to hear her say no to him, and he would have left without another word. It would have made things so much easier, when he had vowed to do his best to finally let her go, too.

But now... When she had opened so completely to him downstairs... let all the horror and hurt inside of her pour out in a deluge, and he had felt her every emotion as if it were his own... She opened something in him, too--that small, battered box in his heart where he had stowed away the true depth of his feelings for her. Where he had hidden the memory of their sweetest times together. That repository he had thought padlocked forever less than a week ago, when he had finally thrown out that damn carton of ice cream.

Maybe it had been true, then. But seeing her face... holding her in his arms again... had demolished that false certainty completely. Now he found that he didn't want her to push him away. He wanted to stay. Not just for her sake, but for his own.

How could he argue, though? How could he tell her what he wanted, when he wasn't certain himself? How could he press the issue, when the last thing that she needed right now was more stress?

"If that's what you want. I understand," some still-logical part of his mind replied. It was the correct answer to give, even if it wasn't the one in his heart.

Buffy turned to look at him at last, and her stormy eyes belied her calm voice. "Do you? I don't think you possibly could. Do you know how long it took me to get to the point where I wasn't sitting right here in this chair every night, waiting for you to come back? I knew all the reasons why you never did, but they didn't help. Because it seems to me, if you loved me as much as you always said you did, it would have made you want to *stay*, not go. Stay and try. Move fucking mountains to find a way." She shook her head and turned away again. "Forget it. It doesn't matter now. I just... I can't believe that you left me because you couldn't have sex with *me*, but you could... It just makes everything we went through seem... worthless."

Angel slid closer to her, reached out, and turned the chair to face him. She averted her eyes. "I never wanted you to find out like that. Buffy... what happened with Darla... it was just the end of a long, ugly downward spiral in my life. It had nothing to do with you, or the way I feel about you. I swear."

Anger flashed across her elfin features as she looked up again. "Nothing to *do* with me? How can you *say* that? It has *everything* to do with me! Wasn't half your big sewer speech that you wanted me to be with someone who could make love to me, and you couldn't? Well - it looks like you can now, huh?"

He resisted the urge to shake her. To make her stop uttering these false, vile statements... "Damn it, Buffy! It wasn't just about sex! It never was! That was only the first on a long *list* of reasons why I had to *go*!"

She snorted and shoved him out of the way, moving to sit on the windowsill. "No, that's right. There was, what... daylight, picnics, children...'something outside demons and darkness', isn't that what you said? Well, I tried it, and guess what? NO CAN DO! So you ripped my heart out for *nothing*! But... hey... at least you're getting laid now, right?"

Angel jumped to his feet and hauled her up before him. "That's not fair! I'm trying to tell you -- it wasn't like that." He released her and stepped away with a frustrated sigh. "Listen. This isn't why I came here tonight. I came because I thought you needed help, not to talk about me."

Buffy grabbed his hands so firmly he flinched, and looked fiercely into his eyes. "What's new? You *never* talked to me about you! You never told me anything! You just took it upon yourself to make all the important decisions *for* me, and then left me alone to pick up the pieces! You took *everything* with you when you left. *Everything!* There's nothing left of me to give someone else! You said it tore you up to see me because you couldn't move on, and I could? I guess the tables have turned, huh? I *can't* move on! I told you I'd never change, and I haven't! I broke poor Riley's heart because I couldn't give him mine. You have it, Angel! You always have, and you always will! Just because you don't..." she freed his hands and stepped back as her voice cracked, "You don't love me anymore... doesn't change that."

He was so shocked by her outburst--and its conclusion-- for a moment, he couldn't respond. But then he reached out and gently tipped her head up to look into her forlorn eyes. "You don't really believe that, do you? Yes, I left. And given the same circumstances, I would do it again. I wanted you to have something good, Buffy. Something beautiful, and meaningful. How could I ever have made you happy if I couldn't even *touch* you the way I wanted to without putting the whole *world* in danger? But I *never*, not for a *second*, stopped loving you. Never. I still do, with all of my heart."

She blinked up at him for a breathless moment, tears trickling down her cheeks, but when she spoke again, her voice was empty, and she pulled her face away. "You love me so much, you'd rather fuck some evil, soulless..." Her rant halted abruptly, and her sorrow and anger were quickly replaced by confusion. "Wait a minute. How did you... you still have your soul. How?"

Angel turned quickly away and moved toward the door. "It doesn't matter. You should try to get some sleep."

Buffy grabbed him by the arm and forced him to turn around, but he didn't meet her gaze. "Angel? If you slept with Darla, how is it that you didn't lose your soul?"

He shook his head. "I was in a bad place. She was there. End of story. I don't want to discuss it anymore."

She held him fast. "Angel, what's going on? What happened to you?"

His voice was barely a whisper. "Please, just... let it go, Buffy. It's not important."

"No, it *is* important! Please talk to me," she pleaded softly, still holding him in place. "I need to know. Don't shut me out."

Angel slowly raised his eyes to her again. Her insistence wasn't the behavior of someone who didn't care... who didn't believe that the two of them were friends somewhere, deep down. Who really wanted him to leave...

Buffy had always been that, for him. Always there to talk to, even though there were so many things he was too ashamed to share. And even now, when she was already in so much pain of her own... still, she cared enough to reach out.

He could hear her heart pounding... carrying the same rhythm of need that he felt in his own blood. That old, familiar burning... that pull that had always drawn their bodies and essences together like magnet to iron. Irresistible.

The reasons he left her... all the logic that had driven him to pull up roots from the only home he'd ever known... turn his back and walk away from his life's only light... vaporized under the weight of her entreating gaze. He could see it in her, as well... behind the thick walls she'd built around herself -- she still wanted him, too. Only years of fighting against it had buried the feeling away.

His soul -- *his* *permanently ensconced* soul -- cried out:

((You can touch her! You can love her!))

He had wanted this, so much... this single chance... one moment to look into her eyes and behold her feelings for him still burning softly there...

Before he knew what he was doing, Angel grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him, plunging into her mouth with his own. It was mindlessly animalistic, and yet spiritual in the same beat... an uncontrollable expression of hunger deeper than any other he had known before. Buffy yelped at his invasion, and stiffened in his embrace, at first... but then her body recognized his hunger as her own, and she relaxed, yielding into his arms as she returned his desperate, bruising kiss with equal passion.

Oh, God, this... this was so different than what he felt that cold night with Darla. With Buffy, it was complete and full and whole, where the other was utterly void... empty. Buffy's lips were warm and sweet with life, where his Sire's had been frigid and bitter with death. For those moments, as Angel lost himself completely inside his mate's... oh, so longed for... mouth... he understood once again -- and more clearly than ever -- why he had once lost his soul to this woman.

When he finally forced himself to draw away, Buffy stood frozen and trembling before him, her mouth gaping open in shock as she gasped for breath.

"Wh-what... what was that... for?"

He held her at arm's length, and smiled. "Because I love you, Buffy Summers. More tonight than I ever have before. I didn't want to leave you. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, bar none. And I can never, ever express how much I've missed you."

The stunned blonde shook her head slightly. "I don't... understand any of this."

Angel drank in the sight of her... that look... every detail of her beloved face... the way her eyes shone emerald green with tears... the way her lips flushed deep rose from their kiss.

Had he ever seen anything more beautiful in all his days?

"I don't think I do either," he admitted, "I just... I wanted to kiss you, and so... I did."

Buffy didn't move, but continued to stare, wide-eyed, up at him. Five minutes ago, she hadn't even wanted to look at him. She'd wanted him to go, and pretend that he'd never come at all. It was the only way she had survived, over the past two years without him. But now...

Now her Angel was here... looking at her just the way he always used to, like she was the very center of the universe. All her bewilderment and pain vanished into the dark of his loving eyes, and she felt a true smile -- the first one in... forever -- being born in her heart.

"Would you... do it again... please?"

With a full, joyous burst of laughter, her vampire drew her back into his arms, and did just that.

Their second embrace in as many years was softer... gentler... with both of them losing themselves in the velvet comfort of loving caresses.

It was tender, yes... but it was so very real, it started a fire in Angel's belly like nothing he'd ever felt before -- not even for her. As if touching her like this... and more, knowing he was *allowed* to touch her, gave him a chance to feel true desire for the first time since... well, since a Day That Never Was, a lifetime ago.

He let that fire grow and spread for a moment... let it lick at the very edges of his being as he explored the warm contours of her mouth with his tongue and lips and teeth... let his hands wander over paths remembered in such exquisite detail... her slender shoulders and arms... her fine back... up to brush the tender nape of her neck, and into the lush silken waves of her hair. His fingers wound into the thick, soft strands, and even the ancient demon at his core, that had experienced every feast of the senses immortality and this dimension had to offer was lost in wonder at the feel of her. Her sighs like a magnificent symphony, carrying his name on a blessed melody of breath into his ears. Her heartbeat a wild percussion against his still chest...

And his body sang to it... his soul shouted... ((You can have this!))

Slowly, and oh, so hesitantly, he pulled away once more.

"Buffy, we shouldn't..."

Her body tensed against him, and he could feel that old sadness and frustration awakening in her consciousness once again. But it lasted only an instant, and when she met his gaze, her eyes were clear, and she wore a warm, if disappointed, smile.

"I know," she murmured. "I'd forgotten how... hard it is." Her eyes went wide as she realized what she'd said. "I-I meant... you know... difficult... to resist."

He couldn't help but smile at her shyness. For a heartbeat, he considered correcting what she was thinking -- that despite their newly igniting desire, it was just the same, between them. They were denied one another, and their deepest wants were subsumed by the Curse. He wanted to tell her... 'No, my love... that's not it. Not anymore.' He wanted to watch her face light up when he informed her that that particular barrier was gone forever. That the reasons he wouldn't let this storm overtake them, right now... why he didn't just lay her down on the soft bed and make love to her until the world came to an end... were far more complicated, now. But... with any luck at all, far less permanent and irreversible than before.

He wanted to tell her. But so much still stood between them, and in front of them. The coming days would test both their will and their strength, so for now...

"I think you should try to get some sleep, Buffy," he whispered, his palm brushing her cheek. "You're exhausted."

Instead of the expected frown appearing, her smile only grew as she reached up to touch his face in return. "Okay... but I still want to hear everything."

He nodded. "I promise, when the time is right, I'll tell you."

"Everything?"

Angel pulled her back into the circle of his arms. "Everything."

She looked up with an expression that tried to be stern, but only managed to be adoring. "I'll hold you to that, you know."

He chuckled and scooped her up, depositing her carefully on the bed, and drew the covers up before pressing a final kiss to her lips.

"Sleep. We have plenty of time to talk."

Her smile slipped. "So you'll... stay?"

He smoothed her hair away from her face. "Yes. I'll be right downstairs, if you need me."

Angel rose to leave, but Buffy grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked down at her once more.

"Will you...hold me? Please?"

He considered her request for a moment. Was it wise to hold her tonight, when his entire being was roaring to do so much more? It had been so long since his restraint was truly tested by her presence, and he was in no way sure that he would be able to resist her proximity.

He leaned down and untied his boots, toeing them off and leaving them at the foot of the bed, then crawled up to lie beside her. Buffy snuggled back against him, and his arms encircled her tiny body automatically, as though they laid down together like this every night.

She sighed, and he could swear that it was almost a happy sound. "I'm so glad you're here," she whispered.

Angel closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, inhaling the warm, sweet scent of her. He'd forgotten how absolutely fulfilling it was, just to feel her next to him.

"So am I, Buffy. More than you know."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	9. Chapter 9

_I arise from dreams of thee_   
_In the first sweet sleep of night,_   
_When the winds are breathing low,_   
_And the stars are shining bright_

_I arise from dreams of thee,_  
 _And a spirit in my feet_  
 _Hath led me--who knows how?_  
 _To thy chamber window, Sweet!_  
\- from "The Indian's Serenade"t; by Percy Bysshe Shelley

**************************************************************************** 

For once, Buffy didn't dream about the horrors of death. No mom-corpse chasing her through endless miles of cemeteries, eyes wide open, moaning, "Why couldn't you just be a good girl, Buffy?"; no visions of Angel being sucked into Hell with her sword sticking out of his gut, and his hand reaching out for help, his eyes full of pain and betrayal and not-understanding. No Riley hanging from his entrails from some jungle tree, accusing her of being a cold bitch and then exploding into flames. And Buffy didn't once see Glory cackling with glee as she ate her shrieking sister whole. Not a single vampire inhabited her dreamworld, either.

Well... except one. The one with the adoring, soulful mahogany eyes and open, comforting arms, who held her and kissed every inch of her body as he whispered that she was the most magnificent, wonderful thing in the universe, and how very much he loved her.

The very same vampire who, when she opened her eyes from the last sweet dream of him, lay quietly sleeping with his face only inches away from hers on the pillow.

Buffy held her breath and kept utterly still for a long time, terrified that she might still be dreaming, as she had so many lonely nights in the past, and if she did so much as blink, he would vanish.

There was just no way she could handle that right now.

But then he sighed softly and reached out, his arm --solid, strong, and *real*-- wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer, confirming his presence.

((Oh... my God. He's *here*.))

She allowed him to gently tug her to his body, and then couldn't, rather than wouldn't, breathe. She had forgotten how big and hard he was... all over. How he smelled so clean, like Ivory soap and leather and breath mints. She had pushed all those small details out of her mind -- the vision of his beautiful face, his full, soft lips, his lush eyelashes, his high, proud cheekbones. To see them now...

Her eyes immediately filled with tears, and her heart leapt to realize -- yes, he really *was* there, beside her. And for the first time in years, Buffy felt truly *safe*. Nothing could ever touch her or anyone she cared about, so long as her Angel was near.

The events of the past night flashed through her mind's eye: how she had lashed out at him in the kitchen, but he had still simply held her when she fell apart. How she overheard his argument with Spike, and her already beleaguered heart had completely collapsed to hear what he had done... But most of all, she remembered his kisses... how sweet and cool his mouth was... how gentle his hands, and how all the rest -- his leaving and everything after, had simply ceased to matter while she was in his arms.

That was the way it had always been, with him. The true reason why his departure had wounded her so deeply -- nothing else in the world made any difference at all, as long as she could fall into those melting chocolate eyes, hold his hand, or hear his voice. The little girl in her didn't care if this dimension was sucked straight into Hell -- as long as he was holding her as it did. When he turned and vanished into the smoke on Graduation Night, he had taken her entire foundation with him. The only thing that had ever stood between herself and all the ugly details of her reality.

Now he was here. In her bed. At the moment in her life when she had thought she couldn't go on, that she had finally lost everything... had nothing left to hope for or hold onto. Like magick, there he was, standing in her living room with that old look on his face. As if that tiny, broken voice in her soul had screamed out to him across the miles, and like her knight in shining armor, he had come.

Buffy laid there and looked at him. He didn't look a day older, of course... in physical detail, he looked exactly the same as he had that night in the alley, a million years ago, when she had kicked his ass and stomped on his chest, and he had grinned up at her and asked if there was a problem. Exactly the same. But somehow... not. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was, but... there was something... Whatever he had gone through since the last time she saw him made him... glow, almost.

She worried her lip bloody and pushed away the possibility that it was sleeping with his resurrected Sire that changed him. She was missing too much backstory on that to really understand what had happened... why he still had his soul... and she simply wasn't ready for anything to cast a shadow over the simple, incredible fact that he was *here*.

For right now, she didn't care why, or how. She just wanted to enjoy it, for as long as it might last.

Buffy snuggled closer, tucking her head under Angel's chin, hiding from the world in his loving embrace, and let herself drift back to sleep.

Everything else would still be waiting for them when they woke up.

***

Angel hadn't dreamed in a long time... not since his subconscious had almost cost him everything.

He realized, of course, that he probably still had dreams -- so long as he had brainwaves and a psyche, his mind would go on sorting the details of his daily experience, just as it always had. Only now, he never remembered them.

It was probably a blessing. Chances were good that most of what happened in his sleep were horrible nightmares of blood and violence, screaming and death, thousands upon thousands of his victims replaying their cruel, grisly murders for his eternal torment. Or worse -- he would dream of Buffy... making love to her or killing her... whatever. Those dreams were the most painful of all.

Either way, it had been months since he remembered having one. When the initial moments of wakefulness stole on him the morning after he arrived in Sunnydale, and he felt a tiny form nestled tightly in his arms, for a moment, he thought it was a nightmare. Something in his muddled mind said that this was Darla he was holding, and that he was soulless, the grinding hunger pains in his gut a signal to rise with her and hunt.

He panicked and found himself unable to do anything but open his eyes, his Dam's voice and the thunder echoing in his skull...

((What you need is a fresh kill. Hot human blood will wash away the foul memory of it...))

Blonde hair. His face was buried in it. But... he couldn't be The Other, could he? Because... he was terrified, and the demon certainly would *not* be, if it was once again in control.

Angel forced a gulp of oxygen into his lungs, closed his eyes once more, and counted as he exhaled and willed the panic to pass.

((1...2... When I look again, I'll just see pillows. 3...4... It was just a dream. Calm down. 5...6... 7... You're alone, just like you always are. Your soul is safe. 8...9...10...))

He opened his eyes and focused his vision.

The hair was still there, but... he realized with a start that he could feel the heat from the scalp beneath it against his face, and there was the distinct sound of a heartbeat.

The dream sighed and turned over in his arms.

That face... that sweet little sleepsmile...

Buffy.

He blinked rapidly. She wasn't a dream, either. Her arms were there, wrapped around his neck, her warms lips rooting around his jaw... her muscular leg was tossed absently over his hip, and the damp heat of her center was pressed unconsciously against his groin.

His body didn't care if it was a dream or not, and responded, hardening instantly against her.

((Jesus Christ. It's *real*.))

Just to be certain, he gently pressed himself into the juncture of her thighs, eliciting a tiny mewl of pleasure from his sleeping mate.

The sound of it... the feeling of her... for a moment, Angel was lost in its sweet comfort. He put his arms around her, seeking her mouth with his own. A tentative brush, at first, but then harder... his tongue insistently pleading for entrance between her lips, the circle of her arms and legs tightening around him.

He closed his eyes again, and moaned softly. No, this wasn't a dream. Her living warmth really was wrapped around him, her mouth really was softly devouring his, her strong fingers really were tangled in his hair. The only thing dreamlike about it was... that it wasn't a dream. And that he didn't have to stop.

The motions were automatic, and he didn't bother to fight them. His hands wandered down to her tiny waist and beneath her tee shirt, sliding up the lean lines of her back, pushing her shirt up over her head and off. He pulled her desperately to him, her breasts crushed delightfully against his chest as his lips roamed from her mouth to her throat, his tongue seeking from instinct the scar on her jugular, darting out to taste the raised mark.

"Oh, God... Angel..." she gasped, arching into him, her own hands exploring the broad expanse of his (still fully-clothed) back, his waist, and finally griping his rear fiercely and urging his lower body closer. "Yes..."

Some part of his mind objected. This wasn't right. Just because he *could* didn't mean he *should*, and even if her body did feel like the Gates to Paradise beckoning him, there were things they were supposed to be thinking about. Something they were supposed to do. Some reason that currently escaped him why he shouldn't be touching her this way. Why he shouldn't be rolling her over onto her back and trailing gentle kisses through the valley between her breasts. Why he shouldn't be cupping one perfect globe of flesh in his hand and teasing its nipple with the pad of his thumb as he nibbled the other gently.

But the groan from deep in her belly... the swiftly growing aroma of her desire made it really, really difficult to think, and even more difficult to want to.

Buffy was wide-awake, now, fully aware and participating with abandon. Angel looked up to find her watching him from beneath lids half-mast in lingering sleep and burgeoning lust. She graced him with a gentle smile, and placed one tiny hand on either side of his face.

((Don't stop,)) her eyes told him.

He let out a low growl. More. He wanted more. He immediately refocused on the delights beneath his mouth, languidly tracing each curve and line of her bare torso. Each rib... each velvet hollow beneath her breasts... the feminine turn of her belly...

"Buffy..." he sighed into her navel.

She stopped him when his tongue teased just beneath the waistband of her sweatpants, and she urged him back upward for a long, deep kiss before she pulled away to look into his eyes.

"Not that this isn't really... really fun, but. Maybe we shouldn't tempt Fate just yet, okay?" she murmured huskily.

Angel blinked at her.

((Fate? Damn Fate. Screw Fate. My soul is just fine, you don't need to worry, it's my *body* that's starving, so *please*...))

With a sigh, he disregarded the raging imperative in his blood and concentrated on exploring every millimeter of her mouth, instead, laving delicately at the upturned corners, and reveling in the feeling of her hands caressing his back.

((Not now, but soon.))

((No, NOW!))

((We need to talk first.))

((FUCK talking! You have eternity to talk!))

((We can't just plunge into this. There's so much she needs to know, and she's grieving. She'll regret it later))

((Oh, bullshit. Stop being such a pussy.))

He tried not to listen to his logic and lust arguing almost audibly in his mind, like the proverbial cherub and devil on each shoulder. Frankly, his body agreed with the devil, but...

He leaned back, away from her mouth, earning a little whimper of protest.

"Don't stop... kissing good," Buffy gasped, pulling him down once more.

Angel staid her hand and brought it to his lips, then forced himself to sit up.

"We need to talk."

Her eyes popped open, and she scooted up to the headboard, tugging the covers over her bare chest.

"Now?"

He nodded. "There are... some things I need to tell you, before we go any further."

She shook her head, as if denying what he was saying, and Angel could clearly scent apprehension in her blood, where there had been nothing but love and desire a moment before.

Buffy gulped nervously. "Okay, but... just so you know? When I said I wanted to hear everything, I didn't mean, like... right this *minute*."

Angel smiled and took a deep breath. "Buffy, it's about..."

The door burst open, interrupting his speech, and both of them looked to see Dawn come crashing in.

"Oh! Uh... oops. Um..." she stammered, averting her eyes. "Sorry, I... Sorry."

Buffy sighed in frustration and swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her so recently discarded shirt and slipping it on. "This better be good, Dawn."

The girl opened her eyes a crack, and when she saw that they were more or less off each other, opened them all the way and gave the couple on the bed a knowing grin. "I knew you two wouldn't be able to keep your hands off each other."

Buffy growled, "Dawn? You busted in here without knocking because...?"

Angel chuckled and refastened the top buttons of his shirt.

"Yeah, right. Uh... Angel... your cell phone's been ringing off the hook. It was driving Cordy nuts, so... I answered it." She handed the phone to Angel. "It's Kate. She says it's important."

Angel cringed inwardly as Buffy turned a glare on him, and held the phone to his ear.

Dawn stood in the middle of her room with her arms crossed over her chest, smirking.

"Go away now," Buffy ordered her.

"But..."

"GO!"

With a snort and a roll of her eyes, the teenager left.

Buffy turned back to watch Angel, who wore a carefully neutral expression, so she couldn't get any clues of who this *Kate* might be.

"Yeah? Uh huh. They did. Good. So... you killed them, then? How? Uh huh. Everybody okay? She's fine... understandably upset... What? Did he say when? Okay. Yeah. I'll call you later to update you. No, not now. It can wait. Yeah, thanks. Me too."

He snapped the phone shut and set it on the nightstand, then turned to meet Buffy's nasty look.

"What?"

"Who's *Kate*? Another one of your lovers?" she snapped.

Angel bristled at her tone for a moment, and considered meeting it by snapping back, but chose to be amused and touched by her jealousy instead, and gave her a smile. He pulled her back into his arms, and peppered soft kisses all over her cheeks.

"She's just a close friend. Someone I work with," he assured her.

Buffy pushed him off, and pouted. "You were about to tell me something. Was that it?"

He realized that all of this was probably too much for his love, in her current state of mind. And the way she was acting, chances were she might take news of the Curse as simply more proof of her irrational suspicions. What she needed right now was *rest*, not more complicated issues to think about.

"No, that's not it. Now, lie down."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Lie *down*," he insisted.

With a huff, Buffy finally complied, flopping down onto her stomach with her head braced on her arms.

"I still want to talk about this," she said.

Angel ignored her, and before she could grill him any further, he grabbed the bottle of lavender skin lotion from her nightstand, and slid her shirt up once more. Stunned, Buffy didn't resist, and he took full advantage of the moment's respite to moisten his hands and start kneading the tense muscles of her back with long, firm strokes of his fingertips.

"OoooohhhhhhhGaaaaahhhhhd..." she moaned.

He chuckled to himself -- in no way had he lost his touch. It was easy to turn her to mush, really... and not unpleasant. He remembered spending plenty of time rubbing her back when she was younger. It had been a relatively innocent way to touch her, while serving the dual purpose of soothing away a hard night's slaying, or a particularly rough day at school.

Besides, it left some of his mind free to consider what Kate had told him. Nothing new or Earth-shattering had developed in LA. Kate and Gunn had managed to take out the Pootiadieps -- fire was their weak point, and borrowed flame-throwers the weapon of their destruction. Kate mentioned that they were trying to obtain one for the team, which Angel couldn't help but think would come in handy. She' also reported the discovery of three or four other heretofore unknown demon species that they believed were interdimensional. But the most disturbing fact was one that Merl had given them... one that Angel in no way wanted to deal with.

Some of the non-Earth demons had been seen coming and going from Wolfram & Hart headquarters through the underground.

He had only just managed to put all that behind him. To find out that the lawyers might somehow be involved with the convergence, Glory, and the threat to Dawn put him even further on edge than he had been previously. Not that a demon Goddess was anything to scoff at in herself, but... if Lindsey's bunch were involved, things could get a great deal worse.

Angel tried to push the thoughts aside, for now. Giles said they had some time, and as long as they kept a close eye on Dawn, there would be a few days for them to figure out what to do.

For the moment, Angel vowed to stay focused on the *moment*. And that meant concentrating on the beautiful woman who fairly purred beneath his touch.

He'd forgotten how bizarre the juxtaposition of normalcy and Duty could be. It had been so long since he'd dealt with anything mundane (if attempting to rebuild his very complicated relationship with Buffy, and the tragic death of her mother could in any way be considered mundane). Still... love and death were very human things, and nothing about his reality had been even vaguely human for quite a while. To deal with the incredible, miraculous details of the everyday, however painful they may be, gave him a pang of joy.

And to face them with Buffy...

Maybe they were teetering on the edge of the Apocalypse. But for the first time in as long as he could recall, he didn't feel the dread quite so acutely. Whatever came, they would face it together. However hard they might have to work to make 'together' a reality again. There was no doubt in his mind that he could throw as much energy into healing their bond as, not so long ago, he had invested in trying to destroy Wolfram and Hart.

Now one might very well lead to the other. Two very different causes colliding. He almost chuckled at the irony.

A soft snort interrupted his reverie. Angel glanced down, and found Buffy fast asleep once more.

With a smile he felt deep in his soul, he got up, careful not to jostle her as he pulled the blanket back over her prone form, then stood for a moment, enjoying the harmonious music of her feminine snoring before he turned and left his love to her slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	10. Chapter 10

_I years had been from home,_   
_And now, before the door,_   
_I dared not open, lest a face_   
_I never saw before_

_Stare vacant into mine_   
_And ask my business there._   
_My business,--just a life I left,_   
_Was such still dwelling there?_

_I fumbled at my nerve,_   
_I scanned the windows near;_   
_The silence like an ocean rolled,_   
_And broke against my ear._

_I laughed a wooden laugh_   
_That I could fear a door,_   
_Who danger and the dead had faced,_   
_But never quaked before._

_I fitted to the latch_   
_My hand, with trembling care,_   
_Lest back the awful door should spring,_   
_And leave me standing there._

_I moved my fingers off_   
_As cautiously as glass,_   
_And held my ears, and like a thief_   
_Fled gasping from the house._

\- "I Years Had Been From Home" by Emily Dickenson

\- "I Years Had Been From Home" by Emily Dickenson

**************************************************************************** 

When Angel finally made his way downstairs, the house was already in a state of minor chaos. Dawn and Willow were busy straightening the living room, while Wesley and Giles poured over books at the dining room table with a blonde woman he didn't recognize, Xander, and his exceedingly odd girlfriend looking on. Actually, the latter two were paying far more attention to one another, snickering and whispering in one another's ears, but the blonde seemed as engrossed in what the two Englishmen were doing as they were.

He shook his head. Would wonders never cease?

Xander was the first to notice his approach, and Angel was once again surprised when the boy ((*man*... he's not a boy, anymore)) gave him a genuine, lopsided grin.

"Hey, hey, Dead Boy! Sleep well?"

His girlfriend -- Anya, the ex-vengeance demon, he vaguely recalled -- looked up. "Do you still have your soul? Because I haven't had breakfast yet, and I really can't run without a well balanced meal in my stomach."

The vampire raised his eyebrows at her cheek. ((Guess Harris doesn't wander too far from form.))

"Good morning, Angel," Giles greeted him brightly, looking far more rested himself.

Wesley raised an absent hand, but not his eyes from his book, in greeting.

"Good morning, everyone," Angel replied.

The still as-yet unidentified blonde woman rose and thoughtfully shut the blinds, before approaching him and looking up with big, kind eyes and a warm smile as she offered her hand. Angel liked her immediately.

"I'm T-tara. It's r-really nice to m-meet you, finally."

He shook her hand. "It's a pleasure, Tara."

Anya glanced up once more. "She and Willow are lovers. Lesbians," she reported helpfully, and turned back to the notes she very obviously wasn't reading.

Angel watched poor Tara turn a flaming shade of crimson, and felt a distinct pang of sympathy for her.

"Ah. Good for you," he mumbled stupidly. The idiotic comment seemed to do its work, though, as the woman's soothing smile returned.

Wesley abruptly got up and herded his friend into the kitchen, where they found Cordelia leaning against the counter, eating dry oat bran out of the box and intently reading the owner's manual for the cappuccino maker.

Although Angel lamented the lack of coffee, he most decidedly did *not* lament the lack of Cordy's coffee.

"Did everything go all right with Buffy last night?" Wesley whispered, as if afraid to wake her. "You didn't come back down, so I assumed..."

Angel patted his colleague on the back and moved to close the shade over the kitchen sink, then claimed the owner's manual from Cordelia's hand, ignoring her offended, "Hey! I was reading that!" as he moved to make it himself.

"Things went as well as can be expected," he answered vaguely, then turned back to Cordy. "I'll make breakfast, okay?"

She scowled at him, but moved aside. "So you told her about Darla? The whole, "Oh, woe is me I'm all psycho" thing?"

He returned her frown. "Yes and no," he replied, measuring out the coffee and dumping it into the filter.

"Yes and no? Did you, or didn't you?" Cordy prodded.

"Did you tell her about... your soul?" Wesley added.

Angel glanced up, then quickly away again, filling the pot with water and switching the machine on.

Cordelia and Wesley exchanged a knowing glance at his non-response.

"You didn't, did you? I should've known. Wouldn't want to break delicate Buffy," the seer complained.

"You didn't tell her about the Feast of Souls? Wolfram and Hart? *Any* of it?" Wesley yipped.

Angel didn't respond, so Cordy moved to the fridge and reached inside. "Then I take it you two didn't get..." He stopped and turned to glare at her. When she stood once more, she was holding a fresh pint of blood in her hand. "...funky? Don't look at me like that."

He took the blood, not bothering to ask where it came from. Spike was the last thing he wanted to think about, this morning. "Look at you like what?"

"Like all innocent and offended. Your soul is sealed tight like that guy dangling from the beam in the old Super Glue commercials, Buffy's all 'Desperate Need of Comfort' Girl, you spent the night together..."

"It is a natural assumption," Wes concluded for her.

Angel popped the mug he'd filled into the microwave, and started it before he met his friends' inquiring gazes again.

"We have a lot we need to work through before something like that could happen between us," he explained.

His partners emitted matching derisive snorts.

"What?" Angel cried, "I'm not some randy teenager, you know! Buffy has enough to think about without adding sex to the mix. Especially sex with *me*."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Big ego much?"

The vampire gave her a smirk in response.

"Well," Wesley conceded, "I must say, I believe that you made a wise decision, for the time being. There are serious matters here that must be dealt with that take precedence over more... personal things. With the exception of Joyce's funeral, of course."

"Of course," Angel replied, and gulped down his breakfast, letting the warmth flow through his famished body. In all the previous night's excitement, he'd forgotten that he was half-starved. He went back to the fridge and looked in, finding at least 10 or 12 pints of fresh blood stacked neatly next to a case of Guinness.

Spike might as well have written his name on it in magic marker.

((I don't care. I still want to stake him.))

As he moved to warm another mug full, he remembered what really had interrupted his almost-tryst with Buffy.

"Speaking of serious, I spoke to Kate a little while ago."

"And?" Wesley queried.

"Cordy, would you please grab a frying pan? They used to be in that far left hand cabinet. And... she said they took care of our Pootiadieps, but... apparently there are other odd species making themselves known. The sewers and utility tunnels leading east out of the city are lousy with them."

"Oh, goody," Cordy quipped, "All coming to visit the Hellmouth -- alternate dimension demon vacation spot of the year."

"Hm. I see," Wesley commented, leaning on the counter and tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"That's not all," Angel continued, dreading their reaction, but knowing he needed to tell them anyway, "Cordy, can you grab the milk, butter and eggs? These demons have professional help."

"Let me guess. Does this 'professional help' begin with Wolfram and end with Hart?" she asked as she handed him the requested food.

Angel nodded gravely, and melted some butter in the pan.

"Even better," she added.

They spoke quietly about the ramifications of Wolfram & Hart's involvement in an already complicated mix as Angel expertly whipped up huge platefuls of eggs, bacon and toast enough to feed the small army in the dining room. He prepared a little extra of everything with heaps of sugar added, which he planned on force feeding Buffy later, if he had to. For now, though... they let her sleep.

The smells of home cooking drew everyone to the kitchen, and they all ate there, chatting animatedly about various Hellmouth-happenings that the LA team had missed: creatures from outer space, trolls, even Dracula himself, whom Angel was none too fond of anyway, but hearing that he'd bitten Buffy...

Hell, if he spent too much time thinking about that, he'd be passing the rest of his eternity hunting down and slaughtering every fool who'd dared to lay a hand on his mate.

Nonetheless, the scene felt warm and comfortable. Though he always felt happy and content when cooking for Cordy, Wes and Gunn, something about being surrounded by so many connected people just felt... right. Like coming home.

He'd been back in Sunnydale less than 24 hours, and already he felt more comfortable with this crowd than he ever had in the years he lived here. They seemed to truly accept him at last, simply by virtue of Buffy apparently doing so.

It was nice. A very pleasant sensation that Angel was pretty sure he could get used to... if he had in any way planned on staying, which he didn't. Everything seemed to be falling into a comfortable place in his life, for a change. Though the hardest parts -- both personal and professional, were still to come, it was good for them all to be free... let go, for the time being. Tomorrow would be Joyce's funeral, and after that...

He watched Dawn carefully. She was a little down, naturally, but far less so than he might have expected, given the situation. And still she was a little spitfire. She told him animated stories about school -- which, unlike her sister, she actually *enjoyed* -- the boy she liked, how she'd wanted to join the softball team, before...

Even as he smiled and took part in their conversation, Angel couldn't help but feel a deep sympathy for Dawn's plight. After all, he knew all too well how it felt to be a freak in a world of freaks, out of place pretty much anywhere, with no real way to understand what you were, let alone learn how to define it. But she had the advantage of looking like a perfectly normal human girl with perfectly normal human origins, so he hoped that eased at least some of the existential confusion she must feel.

Besides... Dawn was surrounded by people who very obviously adored her.

After they ate, the crowd disbursed, wandering to the living or dining rooms, leaving Angel and Dawn to clean up.

"So... are you and Buffy getting back together?" she asked as she handed him the pan she'd just washed.

He dried it and arranged it in the drainer. "I don't know. It's... too soon to tell."

"Do you want to?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but she was fully focused on scrubbing. "It's complicated. Too complicated to just say 'yes' or 'no'."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You guys were practically doing it when I walked in this morning."

Angel stopped and gave her a look. "Excuse me? We most certainly were *not*."

"Were too. Buffy had her shirt off."

Angel cringed, and turned his full attention to furiously drying the plate in his hand. "This is not an appropriate conversation for us to be having, Dawn."

"Why not?"

"Because, you're fourteen years old, for one. And for another, it's none of your business. That's private, between Buffy and myself."

She made a derisive sound. "I'm old enough to know what hot, steaming monkey sex looks like."

He froze. "Dawn, please. Maybe you're not uncomfortable having this conversation, but *I* am. Show some mercy for your puritanical elders."

"Sorry. I know it's none of my business. Just... Buffy hasn't been the same since you left. She's so... serious all the time. I mean... she tried to be happy with Riley, but it was *so* fake." The girl looked woefully into the foamy water. "And when Mom died, she turned into a total zombie... or like, the Stepford Buffy. You used to make her really happy...mostly. So... I was hoping maybe... since you were back..."

Angel took the cup from her hands, replacing it in the dishwater, and turned Dawn to face him fully again.

"Dawn... I'm not 'back.' I'm here to help out for as long as you guys need me, but I'm not staying. I have a home in LA... a job. I'm going to have to go back there, eventually. I thank you for the vote of confidence, really. And you know that I love Buffy more than anything in this world or any other. But it's just not as simple as do I or don't I."

"Because of me," she sniffled, casting her eyes to the floor, "Because of the whole Glory thing."

He gave her a warm smile. "No, not because of you. Or Glory. There's just... we've been apart for two years, Dawn, and you know as well as anyone that the year or so before that was... difficult. Buffy and I would have a lot to work through, if we wanted to try again. And with everything that's going on in both our lives, I'm not at all certain that *now* is the best time. Do you understand?"

Although when she glanced up at him, her eyes said that she did, she shook her head, pouted, and said, "No."

Angel chuckled softly and pulled her in for a hug. Dawn snuggled tightly into his ((huge)) chest, resting her arms around his waist. To her, Angel had been the big brother she always wanted, and never had. He talked to her like a grown-up, most of the time, and he never held it against her when she acted like a little kid. She would never admit it out loud to anyone, but... when he left, her heart was broken almost as badly as Buffy's. She'd liked Riley well enough, but... it was never the same. Riley never told her stories about the French Revolution, journeys across Europe on one of the first steam trains, the first moving pictures... And Spike, well... half the reason she liked Spike was because of the ways he reminded her of Angel.

And now that he was here, all the scary things that had taken over her life seemed somehow... a whole lot less scary. She could only assume that Buffy felt that way too... not to mention the fact that she had walked in on them practically...

Then, she remembered... the whole reason he and Buffy couldn't be together in the first place. She remembered back when her sister was a junior...those months when Angel had seemed to just vanish, and Buffy cried herself to sleep every night. And how, right after that, her older sister ran away. Even when she came back, and then he did, things had never been the same.

Dawn hadn't found out why until less than four months ago, when she finally managed to break into Giles' "locked" bookshelves, and read all about what had happened between Buffy and Angel.

She pulled back enough to look up into his face. "It's the Curse still, isn't it?"

He flinched, and she watched his expression darken. Of course, he hadn't known she knew... But the look only stayed for a second before it changed back into his trademark half-grin.

"Let me guess... Giles' journals?"

She merely grinned back in response.

"Hasn't anybody ever told you that diaries are other people's *private*, *personal* property? How would you like it if Giles broke into your room and read the Dawn Chronicles?"

At that, she pulled out of his arms and frantically started doing dishes again.

"I burned them," she reported flatly.

The admission stopped Angel dead... so to speak.

"What?"

Dawn shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that Angel could see clearly was false. "I burned them all. I mean, what's the point? I didn't really write them anyway."

He leaned back against the counter, his heart filling with sadness for her once again. He could remember so clearly seeing little Dawn curled up on the couch, or tucked away in the alcove of the library, scribbling furiously in one of her books. She always said, "Someday, like, 500 years in the future, this'll be a textbook in some history class. I'll be an icon of 21st century womanhood." Angel would tease her that if she wrote about all the things she'd seen as the sister of the Slayer, the only place the Dawn Chronicles would ever be published was in "Science Fiction Monthly."

But then... none of that was real, was it? None of what he remembered sharing with his favorite small human had ever happened at all.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said gently, "I was looking forward to buying them in 500 years."

Another shrug. "Yeah, well... they were stupid anyway."

Angel placed a hand softly on her shoulder. "Dawn... I know this must be rough for you. But believe me, as far as I'm concerned, you're as real as I am. Those memories mean a lot to me."

Dawn looked up, and he watched her big, blue eyes fill with tears. "They do? I mean... why? They're not even real."

He gave her a warm smile. "They feel real enough."

A hint of the girl's smile returned. "Thanks."

"Any time."

They returned to washing the dishes in silence for a while until Dawn spoke again.

"You never answered my question, before."

Angel glanced at her. "Which question?"

"Forget if you think you can, or should, or whatever... Do you *want* to get back together with Buffy?"

He didn't need to think about the answer to that. "Yes. Very much."

Dawn nodded. "Good. Then... I think you should. Don't worry. We'll find a way around the Curse."

((The Curse. If only it were still that simple...))

"We'll see," he replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	11. Chapter 11

_There are those who teach only the sweet lessons of peace and safety;_   
_But I teach lessons of war and death to those I love,_   
_That they readily meet invasions, when they come._

\- "Lessons" by Walt Whitman   
**************************************************************************** 

As the morning passed into afternoon, Buffy slept happily on, dreaming of gentle hands and cool kisses, while downstairs, her adopted family worked on the daily tasks that had been draining so much of her time. Angel and Dawn scrubbed the kitchen and bathrooms until they sparkled, Willow and Anya did the laundry, Tara vacuumed and mopped, Xander raked the yard and trimmed the shutters, Cordy dusted, and Wesley and Giles took turns moving things, when requested, between bouts of reading. When every inch of the house was clean, Angel and Cordelia made sandwiches for lunch, and everyone converged back in the living room to watch TV, chatting amicably about the least serious events on everyone's minds.

Giles couldn't help but be surprised by the turn-around in demeanor that Angel, Cordelia, and Pryce's presence had wrought. Buffy was finally resting peacefully, and all the children -- even Dawn -- were more relaxed than they had been in days. Miraculous. It was as though there had been a hole in their daily lives that none of them had truly noticed until Joyce's death, and had no idea that it would take the return of their departed friends to fill it.

Despite the fact that many dire and painful events still lay before them all, for the first time, Giles felt truly hopeful. Certainly, with everyone supporting one another, Dawn and Buffy would more easily be able to cope with their grief, and with all of the two teams' combined resources, they would find defeating Glory far less daunting, as well.

Naive optimism on his part, perhaps, but... watching all the children laugh together made it difficult for Rupert not to be optimistic. The emotional atmosphere was so different in kind than the one they had been laboring under for years now...

He was pondering the implications of a Buffy/Angel reunion when the doorbell rang. The assembly all looked at one another -- no guests were expected until the next morning, at least.

Anya was closest to the door. "I'll get it," she announced, and jumped up to do so, "But if I don't know them, I'm not inviting them in. We don't need any more vampires."

"You know, speaking of unwanted vampires... we haven't seen Spike all day," Xander observed, "We couldn't get rid of him for the past week, and now all of a sudden he's nowhere to be found? I can only think of one thing that would make him disappear that easily." He turned a grin to his former enemy, "And may I say, *thank you Angel*!"

Giles, Cordy and Wesley all looked to the vampire for his response. His expression was understandably dark.

"My pleasure," he grumbled.

Anya threw open the door to reveal a handsome brunette woman in a neat, calf-length navy dress, holding a matching carry-on bag and wearing an annoyingly bright smile.

"Hi! I'm Sophie!" she declared, offering her hand.

The ex-demon stared at it, then glanced up at her again. "You're not invited in," she informed the woman, and slammed the door in her shocked face.

A collective resigned sigh rose from the Sunnydale residents in the living room. The visitors, however (even Cordelia) were clearly taken aback. But before anyone could rise to correct Anya's rude dismissal of poor Sophie, the door swung open once more and admitted a tall, burly blond man who, if one took note of his mossy hazel eyes, could only be one person.

Dawn's happy squeal as she jumped up from her seat on the floor and flew into the newcomer's arms left no doubt as to his identity.

"DADDY!"

Hank Summers scooped his youngest daughter up and swung her around before setting her on her feet once more and giving her a thorough once over.

"God, Punkin' Belly, when'd you get so big?"

Giles automatically felt his hackles rise, annoyed at the man's blatant gall, and couldn't stop his mouth as he got up to approach him.

"I imagine it would have been sometime in the two years since you bothered to see her," he snapped.

All eyes flew to the Englishman in shock.

Hank gave a cool smile. "Well. Mr. Giles, I should have known. Nice to know you're still sticking your nose into other people's business."

Angel watched with growing apprehension -- and admittedly, no small degree of interest -- as the two men squared off. Humans liked to consider themselves so civilized, but on occasions like this, especially between territorial males, he was reminded that they weren't so far removed from their primal ancestry after all.

He'd never met Buffy's father, but he knew that he didn't like what little she had to say about him -- how he had abandoned his family and taken up with another woman, contributing nothing but money to Buffy and Dawn's well-being. He never understood that kind of throwaway attitude in modern men. Why start a family, if you couldn't be bothered to stay and raise it?

Angel did assume the man would at least have enough manners to show up to the funeral of his ex-wife--they had, after all, been married for some 15 years. But he hadn't taken much time to think about what his arrival might mean to Buffy or Dawn... or, apparently, to Giles, who had stepped into Hanks place as paternal figure over the past five years.

The two men smiled and shook hands, but Angel couldn't help but think they were really circling... sizing one another up. He half-expected them to start growling at any moment.

But the exchange only lasted a few heartbeats before Hank turned to address his youngest once more.

"Baby, you remember Sophie, don't you?"

Dawn didn't bother to hide her contemptuous eye-roll. "Sure. Hi Sophie."

"Hi sweetie," the woman gushed, grabbing the teen's board-stiff form into an enthusiastic embrace. "You're so BIG! And oh, honey... I'm so sorry about your mommy."

"Yeah. Thanks," Dawn replied without enthusiasm.

Hank's eyes scoured the crowd in the living room, and from his expression, didn't exactly approve of what he saw.

"Where's Buffy?" he asked with a deep frown.

"She's resting," Giles informed him.

"She left Dawn by *herself*?" Sophie squeaked.

"She should be down here taking care of things," Hank complained.

"Dawn is *hardly* 'by herself'," the Englishman reminded him, motioning toward the others.

It was Cordelia, surprisingly, who came directly to Buffy's defense. "And Buffy *has* been taking care of things. This is the first time she's slept in days!"

Hank cut her off with a curt wave of his hand. "She shouldn't be leaving Dawn with strangers."

"But they're not..." Dawn objected, but was interrupted by Hank abruptly turning his back on her and moving toward the stairs.

"Buffy?" he called.

That was enough. Angel shot from his chair and cut off Hank's access to the staircase. Keeping his voice calm, he towered over the smaller man, meeting his angry gaze square on.

"With all due respect, Mr. Summers, Buffy really needs to rest. She's been under a lot of pressure for the past few months."

Hank fairly glowered, not backing down. "I don't know who you are, young man, but I can definitely say that it's not your place to decide what my family does or doesn't need."

Angel suppressed the urge to snarl, but did not repress the cold sneer that crawled across his lips, or the protective fury he knew burned in his eyes.

"I think that you need to leave Buffy alone."

Mr. Giles approached from behind Buffy's father. "Angel is correct. Buffy is terribly worn out from all of this. There's no reason to wake her now."

Hank Summers' eyes flicked from Angel to Giles, and then to the rest of the group, who hovered protectively around Dawn in the living room doorway.

"Fine," he conceded sharply, "Dawn, pack your things. You're coming back to the hotel with us."

Dawn's eyes went wide with shock and fear. "What? No! I want to stay here!"

"I am not leaving you alone with a bunch of strangers and your irresponsible sister! Pack your things!" he barked, taking a step toward her.

Giles blocked his path.

"Mr. Summers, I believe that Dawn is best left where she is, for the time being."

Anger marred Hank's features. "Who the Hell do you people think you are?"

"They're my family," Buffy declared as she came down the stairs.

Her father spun to face his firstborn, and his expression softened. "Buffy. Hi, sweetie."

He moved to embrace her, but Buffy stepped away and stood at Angel's side. He placed a gentle hand on the small of her back as a show of support as she leaned into him.

"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow," Buffy said, her voice without emotion.

Hank immediately realized his error in approach, and pulled up short before he reached Buffy and Angel.

"We got an earlier flight. I thought you and Dawn might... need me."

The man's voice softened at the last, and Angel almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Although Buffy's voice remained calm, Angel could smell her hurt, anger, and frustration growing.

"We *needed* you six months ago, but you were too busy showing Sophie *Europe* to bother caring. So you'll excuse me if I'm not impressed that you showed up the day before mom's *funeral*."

A wave of pain washed over Hank's features. "I'm sorry, baby, really. Things have been..."

"Busy?" Buffy snapped, finally starting to lose her composure. "Yeah. You've always been busy, haven't you, Dad? Too busy for us. You really didn't need to bother coming before tomorrow. Dawn and I are being taken care of just fine. By the same people who have always taken care of us." She wrapped her arm around Angel's waist, and leaned into him for emphasis.

Angel kept his eyes on Buffy's father, but laid a soft kiss to the top of her head.

Hank remained silent, appropriately chagrined, with his eyes to the floor. Mousy Sophie, however, was not to be cowed so easily. She stepped toward Buffy, ignoring the glare she received from the tall man next to her, and pointed in the younger woman's face.

"Now you see here, young lady. Your father and I have done our very best to provide for you..."

Buffy snorted and pushed her hand away. "*You* haven't done *anything*. And all *he's* done is send a check once a month for five years. Which, by the way, he can just keep doing, because Dawn is staying with *me*, and *I'm* staying right here." She addressed the last directly to her father, then moved away from Angel to stand in the clutch of her friends, putting an arm around her sister's shaking shoulder.

Angel followed, and he, Wesley, Xander and Giles stood together to form a barrier between the intruders and their family members.

Sophie spluttered indignantly. "Are you just going to let them get away with this?" she yelped at Hank, who finally raised his eyes from the floor.

"I didn't come to fight with you, girls," he said softly. "I know I haven't been the best father, but... I want to make it up to you. We're all we have left, now."

"You're *not* all *we* have left," Buffy spat.

Hank turned to look at Dawn. "Honey, don't you want to come live in the house in Modesto? We've got a pool, and Scruffy... and there are lots of nice kids in the neighborhood."

"No," the girl replied unequivocally, snuggling closer to her sister.

Hank sighed. "Okay. This is hard on everyone. Let's just... take a little time to cool off. Buffy, why don't you and Dawn join Sophie and I for dinner at the hotel later? We can discuss all of this rationally. After all, Dawn is fourteen years old. She needs responsible adult supervision. And whether I've been a good one or not, I *am* her father, and it's my decision to choose what's best for her." He stepped past Angel and bent to kiss Buffy on the lips, but she turned her head, and he was forced to settle for her cheek. "We're at the Sunnydale Hilton. Mr. Giles? You're welcome to join us, if you'd like. Say... 7:30?"

Giles nodded curtly. "Fine."

"Good then. Well, it was... interesting to meet you all," Mr. Summers said, and with a final glance at his daughters, claimed a still-glaring Sophie and dragged her out the door.

Angel looked behind him to find Buffy with her arms around a hysterical Dawn.

"I'm SO not going to live with them!" she cried, "I want to stay with you and Giles!"

Buffy hugged her baby sister tightly, meeting Angel's eyes as she replied, "Don't worry. You're not going anywhere."

Angel nodded his silent assent at his love's unspoken question. He had promised to help them protect Dawn, and he would do anything in his power to do just that.

Even if it meant protecting her from her own father.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	12. Chapter 12

After the scene with Hank and Sophie, it took nearly an hour to calm a hysterical Dawn. Buffy stayed locked up with her, alone in the girl's room, and tried her damnedest to convince her little sister that she wasn't going anywhere. They would talk to their father that night at dinner, and find some way to change his mind.

Meanwhile, Angel took the opportunity to grab a badly needed shower. To say things were tense here in Buffy's part of the world was akin to calling the Black Plague an unfortunate outbreak of the flu. He could hardly believe how quickly her troubles seemed to multiply, each one adding another heavy load to her already overburdened shoulders. Though in many ways, he was glad to be there to offer what little assistance he might, he couldn't help but wonder if the baggage he brought with him was just more that she didn't need right now. Everyone seemed to be glad for his presence, but... how long could that possibly last? And how would Buffy feel about him being there if she knew the whole truth about the past year? How would she respond to the story of Darla's return... and the ending of that saga? The Feast of Souls and all of its side effects?

What if news of his permanent soul didn't meet with a happy response? Could he handle that? And what if he and Buffy did decide to try and work through all their many and complicated issues, and attempt to make their relationship work again -- what then? He had to go back to LA -- his home, his purpose, and his family were there. And she would have to stay here, whether she kept Dawn or not, for the same reasons.

How could they possibly make it work?

Angel leaned back against the shower stall and thanked the Powers that he didn't have to breathe, so he could just stand there and let the torrent of scalding hot water wash all his tension, fears and doubts, away. He needed to keep his mind clear. He couldn't let the darkness sneak up on him again... not now. Not while Buffy still needed his help.

But did she, really? She'd already had her first breakthrough, and was on the road to a natural, healthy grieving process. Was his presence really necessary? Maybe they should go back to LA after the funeral...

No. At the very least, they needed to stick around until this Glory business concluded. As soldiers, if nothing else. The personal stuff, as Wesley had so aptly noted, needed to be put aside.

He just had to step back from her a little. Be there if she needed his shoulder, but.. avoid the more... complicated things.

((You mean complicated things like almost making love with her this morning?))

Yes. Things exactly like that.

It had been a long time since he came face to face with his almost irresistible hunger for her. And feeling it again now, he was reminded of all the reasons he had to leave in the first place -- his body, heart and soul ached in equal measure to be close to her, drawing him as though she was the sun, and he an eternally circling planet. He could never resist, no matter how hard he tried. Back then, not being able to resist had very clear, very dire, all too familiar consequences -- unleashing the most sadistic, insane demon the world had ever known onto an unsuspecting and helpless populace.

So now... that looming issue was moot. To make love to his heart's mate might not mean the end of all existence, anymore. Giving in to that overpowering temptation meant possible disasters of a far more complicated, human kind, instead. So much had changed in their lives. *They* had changed. And still their ugly past hung between them like a wall of heavy mist that they could wander through forever and still never find one another on the other side.

And wasn't Buffy's life -- and his, truth be told -- already complicated enough?

But God... being with her this morning... holding her so tightly in his arms all night... felt so good. So right. Like he had been gone on a long, painful journey, and had only now returned to the warmth and comfort of home. It seemed easy right now, because it was all still so new... and both of them were so needy... so lonely... The haze of shock at their reunion hung around them, a momentary pardon from the past... but it was only a matter of time before that dissipated, and all the old wounds came to bear once more...

It wasn't that he thought the effort wouldn't be worth it. Hell, he'd walk through fire to...

No... he didn't want to start thinking about trials, on top of everything else. To quote his dearly missed friend, The Host, "That way lies badness."

For a moment, Angel had an insane urge to jump in the car and race to Caritas, slaughter some harmless easy listening number, and have his flamboyant green friend read his soul. Tell him what to do. Was Buffy meant to be part of his Destiny?

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts, and without waiting for a response from him, Buffy entered. He couldn't see her through the heavy steam or the shower curtain, but he could feel her... smell her... a shiver of want rushed through his blood.

"It's just me," she announced, setting the lid down on the toilet and then sitting herself on top of it. "I know shower time is private naked time, but... if I promise not to peek, can I stay and vent?"

Angel sighed and picked up the washcloth. "Sure. What's up?"

"My quote, unquote *father*, that's what. I wish he was a vampire so I could just... stake him," she snapped.

"You don't mean that," Angel chided her gently as he lathered up.

"No, but the sentiment's definitely there. I mean, God! How can he walk in here after two *years* and just start ordering me around like he owns the place?"

Angel scrubbed. "Doesn't he?"

"No... actually... I do. Mom left the house to me."

"Ah," he replied. Another heavy responsibility for his young love. "I think he was a little taken aback to find his daughters -- especially Dawn -- in a house full of strangers."

"You guys aren't strangers," she objected.

"Buffy... he doesn't know that."

"Right," she grunted, "Which is pretty ironic, considering he's the biggest stranger of all. He doesn't even know Dawn anymore, and..."

She trailed off, but Angel heard her unspoken implication -- that Hank had no idea *what* Dawn was, either.

"Angel... if he takes her... she won't be safe. There'll be no one there to protect her."

He quickly washed and rinsed his hair and cut the water, then leaned out to grab a towel from the bar next to the stall. He caught Buffy watching through the mist, with wide (and he could swear, hungry) eyes, which she immediately averted as a deep blush crawled up her neck.

"You look... good," she murmured shyly.

Angel snapped the curtain shut and toweled off. "Thanks. I've been, um... working out... more."

God, did that sound as horrendously lame to her ears as it did to his?

"Oh. I... didn't think... you know... that vampires had to..."

"We don't. But we can... it just doesn't really do anything, since our bodies don't produce new tissue. It's good for honing your reflexes, though..." ((Could somebody please shut me up?)) He tied the towel around his waist and poked his head out of the curtain again. "You didn't come in here to discuss my exercise regimen, Buffy."

She didn't avert her eyes this time as he climbed out of the shower. It was difficult to see clearly, through the steam, but he definitely thought her expression was one of appreciation.

"No... right..." she muttered, still staring so openly at him, that if he had a living circulation to speak of, he would be blushing furiously, too.

He tried to ignore her attention. "I don't think you should worry about your dad until you speak to him tonight. Maybe you and Giles can change his mind."

Angel stared at his utter lack of reflection in the mirror, and realized suddenly that in his hurry to get here, he'd completely forgotten to pack any toiletries.

As if she'd read his mind, Buffy reached around his legs, pulled an unopened toothbrush and bottle of gel from the cabinet under the sink, and handed them to him with a smile that he could see clearly even through the vapor.

He took the items and smiled in return. Maybe they weren't such total strangers, after all... the gel was even the right brand and hold. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said, turning away, her blush increasing. She cleared her throat and forced herself back to the topic at hand. "I know you're right. It's just... he's treating me like same little kid who he thinks burned down her high school gym because she was hanging out with the 'wrong crowd'," she made air quotes around the words. "He doesn't know the first thing about me, anymore. He hasn't since the moment I was Called. He thinks I can't handle this."

"Can you?" Angel mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste, then spit it out and rinsed his mouth before he went on. "Raising a child -- especially a teenager -- *especially* a teenager like *Dawn* -- is a pretty heady undertaking, don't you think?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Whereas saving the world from horrible *monsters* on a nightly basis *isn't*, right?"

Angel sighed. "That's not what I'm saying." He slicked his hands with gel and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm just saying -- *are* you ready for this kind of responsibility?"

((Are you sure you're ready, Buffy?))  
((Ready, willing, and able.))

"I wouldn't be doing it alone. Giles promised to help. So will the guys. And hey -- aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

He smiled down at her. "I am on your side. I'll back you up no matter what you decide to do."

Buffy smiled tentatively in return, but said nothing.

"Now get out so I can finish getting dressed," he commanded softly, reaching for her hand. She took it, and Angel pulled her to her feet. A little too hard, as she ended up in his arms, pressing his back against the wall.

They froze like that for a long time, their forms toe to toe and hip to hip. And once again, Angel felt his traitorous body totally disregard all his carefully laid out logic, and respond to her closeness... the look in her eyes... the soft sheen the steam had made on her skin... The cherub and the devil took up arguing again in his head.

((Kiss her!))  
((Just apologize and wait for her to go.))  
((Kiss her, idiot!))  
((Don't start this now. It's not the right time. And you won't be able to stop.))  
((JUST GODDAMN KISS HER ALREADY!!!))

"Sorry," Buffy murmured, gazing up at him without moving, and not looking even the least bit sorry.

"Uh... B-buffy, I..."

She pressed more tightly up against him for a moment more, then pulled away, brushing his towel-encased crotch with a light sweep of her hand as she did.

"Right. Getting dressed. Witness me leaving you to your privacy," she purred, and stepped out, shutting the door behind her.

After she'd gone, Angel remained where he was, fighting to catch his un-breath, for a very long time.

God help him. He wasn't going to make it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	13. Chapter 13

_Oh... why you look so sad?_   
_Tears are in your eyes_   
_Come on and come to me, now._

_Don't be ashamed to cry._   
_Let me see you through,_   
_'Cause I've seen the dark side too._

_When the night falls on you,_   
_Don't know what to do._   
_Nothing you confess_   
_Could make me love you less._

_I'll stand by you._   
_I'll stand by you._   
_Won't let nobody hurt you._   
_I'll stand by you._

\- from "I'll Stand By You" by the Pretenders   
Sort of the theme song for "Worlds" *g*

**************************************************************************** 

Angel walked out of the bathroom, fully dressed and coifed a few minutes later, to find Buffy sitting at her desk, scribbling furiously on a yellow memo pad. Peering over her shoulder, he saw that she had written "Dawn" in her trademark big, loopy script across the top of the page, and below that, was working on a long list of pros and cons.

"Since when were you a list maker?" he teased. "I thought being 'thorough' was Willow's department."

Buffy didn't glance up from her task. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me," she replied absently.

He remembered a million years ago, when he had once said the same thing to her. At the time, he'd meant it as an invitation for her to get to know him... or maybe a desperate plea for her to do so...

Either way, when she did, it hadn't turned out to be a terribly pleasant experience.

He snorted aloud at his epic mental understatement.

"Something funny?" Buffy snapped.

Angel sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her, and leaned back on his elbows.

"Not really. More ironic."

"Like rain on your wedding day?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Pardon?"

Buffy chuckled. "Nothing. Pop culture reference."

"Ah. Still not much good at those, I'm afraid."

They were silent for a while as Buffy continued working diligently on her list, and Angel watched. And regarding her for the first time in years, he was able to see just how much -- and yet, in essence, how little -- she had changed. She'd grown into her body... matured into the beautiful woman he always knew she would become. He shuddered to think how breathtaking she would be in her true feminine prime... at 30... or 40...

But so much about her was still exactly the same -- the way she chewed her lip when she was concentrating... the way she held her pen with the very tips of her small fingers... even her girlish scrawl on the page was well-remembered. So many times he'd watched her doing her homework, writing about history that he remembered living... It was a heady sensation, watching this new-old Buffy, with her proud, certain manner and her fierce devotion toward someone she would die to protect...

Angel could still recall how it felt to be that someone... how being with her, once upon a time, made him feel safe. Whole. Loved.

Although... to think about it, wasn't that what he had with Gunn, Cordy and Wes? Hadn't they proved, time and time again, that they would do anything for him... that they were his family? Yes, his Buffy was still so exquisite, and just having her near filled his heart... sitting there, looking at her, permeated his being with desire and longing that he had thought himself long past. But... what good would it do now, to try to call back that old familiarity again? Those days... that innocence... were so long lost...

"You're staring at me," she observed, peeking at him over her shoulder.

Angel shook his head to clear his thoughts, and looked away. "Sorry. Just thinking..."

Buffy turned in her chair to face him. "Brooding, you mean. About what?"

He looked up at her, his dark eyes piercing straight into her soul, and Buffy could swear that her heart just... stopped.

All of this... having him so close again was... a lot. She could hardly think when he was in the same room. And when he touched her... forget it. It was like his skin making contact with hers hit some kind of off-switch in her brain, and turned her instantly into an airhead nymphomaniac. She had come *this close* to jumping his bones in the bathroom... and all she could think about was that she'd forgotten... how smooth his skin was. How full and soft his lips... how big his hands... she remembered how they felt on her skin this morning...

((Okay, Summers. Focus.))

Frankly, even after the scene with her dad, and how infuriated the whole situation made her, she *still* couldn't stop thinking about how she woke, that morning, to Angel's lips on hers... his hands on her breasts... his entire body pressed against hers. She'd forgotten about that fire... how everything she was and did and thought and wanted just melted down and purified until she was nothing but *his* touch...

She had forgotten she could want someone so badly, to the exclusion of everything else. Angel had been the only person ever to make her feel... consumed. Obsessed. Completely not in control of her emotions.

And that, she realized in a blinding flash, was what she'd never had, with Riley.

Angel met her gaze squarely. "Honestly? I was thinking about you."

Buffy felt her face burning. "Me?" she squeaked.

He nodded softly. "How much you've... grown. I really admire the way you've kept body and soul together after everything you've been through, Buffy."

She frowned. "Look who's talking," she huffed, and turned back to her list.

Angel sat up and touched her arm. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Buffy paused for a moment, chewing her lip, before she turned to look at him again. "You and Darla."

Taking a deep breath, he glanced away, letting go of her arm. "It's a long story. And I'm sure, not what you think."

Buffy got up from her chair and moved to sit beside him on the bed. "Then tell me the real story."

He forced himself to look her in the eye. "Short version? This law firm doesn't like the way I cut into their more... shady dealings, so they cast a spell which brought her back. As a human. And used her as a tool to try and drive me insane."

Buffy's face scrunched in confusion. "So you slept with her? Interesting solution."

Sighing, he shook his head. "Actually, sleeping with her was pretty much the final manifestation of the 'going insane' part. Rock bottom. So to speak."

She gulped and stared at him for a long time, letting that sink in. Then she realized the full implications of what he was saying. Horrified, she unconsciously backed away. "You... you were *trying* to lose your soul!"

Angel said nothing.

Buffy grabbed his arm and forced him to face her. "You were trying to *kill yourself*! Why?"

"Because I gave up," he replied softly, "I didn't see any purpose in continuing on, fighting a war that can never be won."

Tears filled her eyes, and she increased her grip on him, as though attempting to will his pain away. "How could you *do* that? Why didn't you call me? I would have listened. And... God... you know that I understand that feeling. I live it every day!"

Angel closed his eyes. "I couldn't, Buffy. I thought... you were happy. I wouldn't have wanted to lay all that on you. How could I expect you to understand, when I didn't?"

Buffy jumped up from the bed and started pacing, gesturing angrily as she ranted. "That is JUST like you! Stoic goddamn noble STUPID GUY! You always think that *everything* is all *your* responsibility! God!"

He looked up at her... seeing her fury, and knowing it was as much *for* him as *at* him, almost made him want to smile.

But... she was still yelling, so he didn't figure that would be the wisest move.

"Don't you KNOW, Angel? I would give *anything* for you to share that with me! Or to be able to share that with you, because... You know what being the Slayer's like! Demons just keep coming and coming and... I can never get rid of them all! You know what Spike said to me? He said..."

((How many of my kind you reckon you've done? And we just keep coming. But you can kill a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand and the armies of Hell besides and all we need is for one of us- just one- sooner or later to have the thing we're all hoping for. One... good... day.))

"And he's right! It only takes one of them! But there's only one of me! Do you think I can ever win? Do you think I don't just want to give up and lay down and die? But I don't!"

"This was different, Buffy!" he interrupted sharply, "It wasn't the endless hoards of demons that pushed me over the edge. It was the fact that... people are a bigger source of true evil than the worst monster!" He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. "I always thought... if a creature has a soul, then deep down, its fundamental basis is to do good. All some people need is a push in the right direction, you know? Like Faith. But these lawyers... most of them are human. And there's more evil in that building than in all the demon dimensions combined. And they... reminded me that... good isn't the essential base of humanity. Evil is. Evil is at the core of everything in this world. It's constant. It's only when creatures with souls fight *against* that basic nature... that they can do good. What I always thought was a war isn't a war at all. There's no battle to be fought... it's just... futile. So everything I had done... everything I had... sacrificed... fought for... just... didn't mean anything. It was all a waste. Or at least... that's what I believed, then."

The wind knocked out of her sails by the agony in his voice, Buffy collapsed beside him on the bed once again.

"So you tried to lose your soul."

He was still unable to look at her, and concentrated on the bedspread as he went on. "Yes. I wanted everything to be... simple again. I wanted to feel something... *anything* but that... just endless, gaping maw of guilt and hopelessness and... *nothing* that's all I've been allowed to feel since... since I left... you. Nothing made sense anymore. Not me... not my mission... I wanted it to be finished. The pain... And you... you've always been so alive... so full of hope and strength and... how could I..." His voice finally cracked, and he broke down into sobs.

Buffy sat, stunned for a minute, then moved closer, and wrapped him in her arms. Angel buried his face in her chest and cried, while she stroked his hair and whispered nonsensical comforts in his ear.

After a while, he calmed and pulled away, wiping at his eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Buffy reached up and tenderly stroked his wet cheek. "Don't be. Angel... believe me. You think I'm this great paragon of everything good and strong? Well... guess what? I'm not. The past few years have been... like a nightmare. I didn't know who I was or what I was doing... or why. I spent all my time running... from... I don't know what. My past... you... me... I hid behind Riley because it was simple. *He* was simple... and good, and devoted. And he never asked me to do or be anything. He never challenged the hiding, you know? It was easy to be with him. But... I guess the downside was... I never loved him."

At that, Angel looked up. "But... you said..."

She stopped him with a gentle fingertip to his lips. "I know what I said. I said that because I was hurt and angry... and... I wanted to hurt you."

He gave her a sad hint of a smile. "It worked."

Tracing the curve of his lips, she returned it. "Yeah... the yelling and sending me packing made that pretty clear." She turned to face him fully, and placed a hand on either side of his face as she gazed deeply into his eyes. "I never loved Riley. Not the way I love you."

Angel blinked. "Love?"

Buffy nodded and her smile grew. "Yes, love. Then and now and forever. Nothing can ever change that, even if we can't be together. I never wanted a normal life, Angel... all I ever wanted was you. However I could get you. The rest, even the sex--no, *especially* the sex--meant nothing if it wasn't with you. It was like... doing aerobics, you know? Going through the motions because that's what I was supposed to do. I mean... don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't like sex. I *love* sex. And... Riley was great -- very thorough and gentle and giving. And he put a lot of gusto into it..."

Angel raised a hand to cut her off. "Please. I think that's more information than I really need."

She chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry. What I meant to say was..."

He leaned toward her, and planted a soft kiss to her forehead before pulling her into his arms. "I know what you meant to say. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she whispered, relaxing against his chest, "It is worth it, you know... the fighting. And you... you're worth it. Sometimes... the only reason I keep going is because I think of you... everything you've done... all you've had to overcome. I think about how hard your life has been, and how... you still never give up. You're my hero, Angel..."

Angel looked toward the heavens in thanks. "You're my hero too, Buffy."

They held one another in comfortable silence for a while, until she spoke again.

"Angel?"

"Hm?"

"Why didn't you lose your soul when you slept with Darla? Wasn't she... I mean... didn't you... you know..."

He tugged Buffy away to look at her. She was still so shy... and how beautiful, all sleep-rumpled and sweet... and sexy. Love and desire in almost overwhelming waves welled up inside him, until he was certain his still heart would just... pop. How fiercely he wanted to lay her down on the bed, right here and now, logic and talking be damned, and show her exactly why he didn't… couldn't lose his soul with Darla.

"It wasn't perfect happiness, Buffy. It was just sex."

She sighed and gave him a sweet smile. "Yeah. I know what you mean." She traced the edge of his jaw, drawing loving lines with a fingertip over his cheeks, his nose, and his eyes. He kissed it when it finally reached his lips. "I'm glad you didn't. I love your soul."

"My soul loves you too. More than anything."

Her smile turned into a sly grin. "Besides, it's always such a bummer to have to hunt you down and kill you."

Angel laughed and drew her back into his arms for a long, wet kiss.

God, how he wanted to tell her. When they were like this... when he could taste her sweet lips and feel her small hands tangled in his hair... all the reasonable thinking and intelligence and doing the right thing got flushed right down the drain.

So... there was no harm in changing his mind again, right? There was no rule that said he couldn't just lay his cards out on the table.

But... at the very least, their personal business would have to wait until after the funeral... and Hank...

((Now *that's* better than a cold shower, any day.))

He pulled away, giving Buffy one last, brief kiss to her lips before he got up.

"You should get dressed. You have to meet your dad in an hour."

She nodded, her mouth hanging open slightly, looking dazed. "Uh huh."

Angel couldn't suppress his grin. ((You think Soldier Boy had gusto? Ha!))

"I'll go see if Dawn is up," he offered, and turned to leave.

As he reached the door, his sensitive ears caught the sound of clothing being removed, and falling into a soft pile on the floor. He was once again taken back in time, for a moment... to that first night he'd turned his back, in this very room, at her request, while she got ready for bed.

((Angel?))   
((Hmmm? ))   
((Do you snore?))   
((I don't know. It's been a long time since anyone's been in a position to let me know.))

He couldn't help himself. He peeked over his shoulder and found...

Buffy peeking back at him from behind her closet door, wearing little else, he imagined, but her sly grin.

"I knew you couldn't help yourself," she teased.

He grinned back. "Guess not."

"You know... after all this 'Glory' stuff is finished?" She hugged the edge of the door, batting her eyelashes at him flirtatiously. "Maybe we should... think about finding a way to bind your soul? I mean... I have lots of magickal connections..."

Angel stared in wonder at her. Certainly, she was joking... but only halfway. In her eyes he found that earnest, determined seriousness once again. She meant it. His heart both soared and plummeted at once.

((You should tell her.))

((I will. Just... not now.))

"Maybe. One thing at a time, okay?" he replied gently, and left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	14. Chapter 14

_So... If you're mad, get mad!_   
_Don't hold it all inside._   
_Come on and talk to me now._   
_Hey... what have you got to hide?_   
_I get angry too._   
_Well I'm a lot like you._

_When you're standing at the crossroads,_   
_Don't know which path to choose._   
_Let me come along,_   
_'Cause even if you're wrong,_   
_I'll stand by you._   
_I'll stand by you._   
_Won't let nobody hurt you._   
_I'll stand by you._   
_Baby, even through your darkest hour._   
_And I'll never desert you._   
_I'll stand by you._

\- from "I'll Stand By You" by the Pretenders

**************************************************************************** 

While Buffy, Giles and Dawn went to dinner, the others left to get coffee and do more research at Giles' shop. They asked Angel to join them, but he declined, saying he wanted to take the opportunity to get some more sleep.

What he actually wanted to do was what he once did best.

Brood.

He made himself a pot of coffee and sat on the back porch, watching the stars. One of the many things he missed about Sunnydale was the clear, sparkling night sky. The only twinkling lights to be seen in his city were artificial ones, from below.

Angel honestly hadn't recognized that he had missed the Hellmouth itself as much as he now found he did. But he was quickly discovering that he missed more than just Buffy... he missed her friends too -- whether they'd been terribly fond of him before or not. He missed the almost quiet simplicity of the suburbs... the clean air... the open space... the utter lack of traffic... and lawyers.

And somehow, the idea of the Hellmouth -- an easily identifiable, physical manifestation of the origin of evil, plus monsters that actually *looked* like monsters -- all seemed exceedingly nice and comforting, suddenly.

But then, his life wasn't supposed to be easy, was it? Didn't he need to be where the truly malfeasant wore beautiful faces as often as not? His mission--his calling -- was different in kind from Buffy's. Her place was to destroy the monsters that looked like monsters. His was to help people cope with the evil within...

He chuckled softly to himself. ((You sound like one of Cordy's self-help books.))

Well... there was no help for it. Yes, he'd had an epiphany, all those weeks ago -- a moment of clarity in which everythiing had changed for him... and yes, the Feast of Souls had set him free -- not just from the Curse, but from the crushing sensation that his journey was a burden he was forced to bear until he earned his reward at the end of the path. He had, in all of the events of the past year, managed to find some measure of true peace in himself for the first time since he regained his soul.

But now... being here with people he once cared about... the first people he had given half a damn for in the past hundred years... gave him an even clearer perspective.

Most of all... talking with Buffy... seeing how much more they had in common than he ever would have imagined...

Something just clicked in his heart and mind. Angel had vowed to himself that he would look at everything in his reality differently, from the moment he left Darla in his room, onward. He swore off the brooding, the gut-wrenching angst, and the 'oh, woe is me' attitude, as Cordy liked to call it. Being honest and doing the truly good thing... that was his path to humanity. Taking as well as giving, and learning to believe that he deserved to have something more. That he deserved happiness. And being with Buffy, whatever the circumstances, made him happy. It seemed to do something positive for her, as well. That couldn't be wrong, could it?

Sure they had years of painful issues to work through. And no, there were still no Sunday picnics, houses with white picket fences, SUV's, 2.3 kids, or a dog in their foreseeable future...

But they had each other. They had a love that had survived time apart... distance... anger and frustration... Hell itself. How many people were ever that lucky? And how many second chances could they expect to receive?

It was time for him to put his heart where his beliefs were, and stop running away from Buffy because of some misguided notion that he was undeserving. It was time, at last, to be with the one who loved him... wanted him... made him truly complete.

She was the reason for it all, and he didn't want to push her away anymore.

Now if only he could find the right time... the right words, to tell her that.

Angel sighed and took the next phase of brooding back into the house.

***

"I can't believe my father is such a CREEP!"

Buffy's raging followed immediately on the heels of the front door being kicked in, and was then followed by her purse being hurled across the living room, knocking over a lamp.

Angel rushed in from his latest thinking spot, directly next to the coffee maker. Dawn huddled in the living room doorway behind her enraged sister. He ducked in behind her, after giving the girl a reassuring (or what he hoped was reassuring) smile, which she attempted -- and failed -- to return.

"What happened?" he asked the pacing ball of spluttering tension.

"What happened? WHAT HAPPENED? I'll tell you what happened! My father slapped a set of CUSTODY PAPERS ON ME, THAT'S WHAT HAPPENED!"

Angel leaned back against the doorframe. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, me too! GOD! I can't believe he is such a flaming ASSHOLE! Oh wait -- YES I CAN! I mean, he practically *vaanishes* for like, two *years*, then shows up the day before my mother's *funeral*, thinking he can just plow right into our lives like nothing happened? I AM NOT FUCKING LETTING HIM TAKE DAWN!!!"

"Ooo-kayyy... I don't think this rant is meant for a PG-13 audience," Dawn muttered, turning to go upstairs, "So I'm just gonna..."

Angel reached out and stopped her. "Are you okay?"

Her smile worked a little better, this time. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just want to go to bed and forget I was ever changed into a human from a big ball of energy."

He smiled at her attempt at levity. "It'll be okay, Dawn. Don't worry."

She shrugged. "I'm not worried about *me*," she clarified, nodding toward Buffy before she climbed the stairs.

Angel turned back and walked farther into the living room, where Buffy continued to pace, muttering and cursing to herself.

"Buffy, calm down. This isn't going to do anyone any good."

She snorted at him. "Calm down? I don't *want* to calm down! I want to KILL SOMETHING! Glory could find out about Dawn any minute! And if she's not here, who's going to protect her? My DAD?"

"I'm sure we can work this out rationally, Buffy... and getting yourself worked up like this isn't..."

Buffy spun, fury flaming in her eyes. "PLEASE keep your goddamn ZEN ATTITUDE out of my RANT, OKAY? I really, REALLY don't want you to make me feel better right now! I don't WANT to feel better! I want to be INCREDIBLY PISSED OFF!"

Angel winced as her shrieking sliced through his sensitive ears. "Okay... then tell me what he said."

"He said exactly what I thought he'd say! 'Oh, Buffy, that's very noble of you, but I don't think parenthood is really the sort of job for you, do you?' To which his snotty little girlfriend added, 'Yes, I understand that arson is more your specialty.' CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT FUCKING BITCH?"

Even Angel was shocked that a woman who was practically a stranger would say such a thing... especially in public. Not to mention Buffy's language...

She abruptly stopped pacing, and stuck her finger in his face, "And I swear to GOD, if you even TRY to stick up for him, or for her, or try to make me see their point of view, I will STAKE YOU RIGHT HERE AND NOW!"

He frowned. "I wasn't going to..."

"Everybody thinks they know what's good for me! Nobody ever asks *me*, though, do they? NO! Because, you know, Buffy's just an immature little princess! What the Hell does she know about what she can or can't handle? Why should she get to decide whether or not she can raise her sister or run the house or decide who the Hell she wants to spend the rest of her life with? WHO DO YOU PEOPLE THINK YOU ARE?!"

Angel started a little. When did this situation become about him?

"Buffy, I think..."

"I don't care what you think!"

"Alright. That's enough."

He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the hall, ignoring her outraged protests (which mostly consisted of cursing him and her father and every other male on the planet), stopping only long enough to claim her swords from the top shelf of the hall closet before he hauled her out the back door into the yard. He planted her squarely in the middle, sticking one of the swords into her hand, moved to the other side, and got into fighting position.

Buffy stood there, sword hanging at her side, her mouth open.

"What... what are you doing?"

Angel took a step toward her, sword at the ready. "You want to fight? Let's fight."

She blinked, but didn't respond or move.

"Come on, Buffy! You said you wanted to kill something... and you've obviously got some unresolved issues with me, so -- let's chop up two birds with one swordfight, shall we?"

Buffy took a step back. "I don't... want to fight you..."

He was almost surprised at the level of his own frustrated anger. "No? You could've fooled me! I know you're still angry with me for leaving. So I say we work through our issues right here, right now, the old-fashioned way. Because I'm not going to put up with this passive-aggressive bullshit from you every time you get into a snit about something!"

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise and amusement, and she couldn't help but smile at the picture he presented, hunkering down in the middle of her back yard, menacing her with a sword. "Did you just say... bullshit?"

Angel straightened up, still glowering. "Yeah. So?"

She laughed. "I don't think I've ever heard you use that word before."

He was still furious, but almost had to smile back. "I think you'd find, if you bothered to try, that I've changed in a lot of ways."

Her smile spread. "I'll bet. So... you really think you can take me on? I've been training pretty hard. I might just kick your ass... like always."

He took another step toward her, and this time, he did smile. "You'll find that one of the ways I've changed is that my skills have improved a great deal."

Dropping down into her own fighting stance, she shot him a grin. "Even without your mighty axe?"

He grinned back. "Try me."

With a joyous battle cry, Buffy swung, and in a moment, Slayer and vampire were a flurry of flesh and sweat, grunts and growls, metal clanging, bodies twisting, punches and kicks flying to and fro.

Buffy couldn't remember the last time she felt so perfectly free... Angel had always been her best sparring partner... as close to her equal as any being ever had been. But as it turned out, he hadn't been exaggerating -- he really had improved. A lot. He was stronger... faster... he'd taken a lot of his old moves and honed them... But so had she. And so the fight raged on, the sounds of battle and laughter ringing through the otherwise peaceful neighborhood.

She never realized how much she missed this... his feral smile as he parried a particularly tricky swing... how she didn't have to hold back at all, because Angel could more than handle himself. She couldn't really hurt him -- not that she wanted to -- and he would never hurt her, no matter how hard he made her work. And fighting with him came so naturally. Neither of them got the upper hand, because even after all this time, they still managed to gauge one another's moves perfectly. They knew each other's strategies by heart.

And speaking of heart... where hers had been consumed with rage only a little while before, now she couldn't remember the last time she was so happy. Angel was so incredibly beautiful... a mountain of hard muscle... a storm of feline grace, and without thinking, she paused for a split second to watch him move... executing one of the most magnificent spinning kicks she'd ever seen, and...

That beautiful kick knocked her sword clean across the yard. Damn it!

Angel didn't back down, and neither did she. With a snarl, Buffy ducked low beneath his next swing and came up with all of her strength, landing a solid kick directly to his solar plexus, which she knew full well would throw him off, despite the fact that he didn't need to breathe.

But what she wasn't expecting was to hear a dull crunch as his ribs shattered beneath her foot as though they were made of glass, or to hear him cry out in real pain... or see him go flying across the yard, crashing into the chainlink fence because he couldn't get enough breath to halt his backward motion...

"ANGEL!" she screamed, and sprinted to where he landed in the grass.

"I'm okay," he gasped, "It's fine. Just a rib."

Buffy dropped down beside him, and carefully helped him sit up. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean..."

"Buffy... it's okay. Really. It was a perfect move. I just wasn't ready," he moaned.

Buffy held him while he caught his breath, until she noticed that the hand she held to his chest was damp. Pulling it away, she found her fingers soaked in blood.

((BLOOD? From a BROKEN RIB???))

Terrified, she ripped the front of his shirt open, and gasped in horror.

It wasn't just a broken rib. Angel's entire torso was covered with barely faded marks, scars and bruises, several of which she had evidently reopened with her kick.

She stared in dismay at his mangled chest. "Oh... my God, Angel... what... what happened to you?"

He winced, shaking his head as he looked away. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Buffy had to fight the urge to break down into tears as she carefully touched the edge of one gaping wound, then looked slowly up into his face.

"I think maybe it's time we had that talk," she whispered.

Angel reluctantly met her gaze, and nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	15. Chapter 15

_Love is not all: It is not meat nor drink_   
_Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain,_   
_Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink_   
_and rise and sink and rise and sink again._   
_Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath_   
_Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;_   
_Yet many a man is making friends with death_   
_even as I speak, for lack of love alone._   
_It well may be that in a difficult hour,_   
_pinned down by need and moaning for release_   
_or nagged by want past resolutions power,_   
_I might be driven to sell you love for peace,_   
_Or trade the memory of this night for food._   
_It may well be. I do not think I would._

\- "Love is Not", Author unknowwn

**************************************************************************** 

As gently as she could, Buffy helped Angel to his feet, and half-carried him upstairs, depositing him carefully on her bed. "Stay. And get ready to start talking," she ordered.

He complied, and Buffy quickly went to check on Dawn. Her little sister was, thankfully, fast asleep, so she left her and went to her mom's bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink before returning to her room. Angel sat, doubled over on the bed, in obvious agony. She set the kit down on her desk.

"Okay, stoic boy. Shirt off."

He hesitated, not meeting her eyes.

"Angel... I can't do anything about that wound until you... oh, forget it."

She reached for the edge of his shirt, but he halted her hand.

"Buffy, really. It's fine. Just... let me wrap my ribs, and the cut will heal itself. It's just some fallout from a fight I had... a while back."

She frowned darkly at him. "If it was 'just a fight', it would have healed by now. Stop being such a baby." She slapped his hand away and yanked off his shirt.

Tears immediately sprang to her eyes once again. She hadn't gotten a good look at him when he got out of the shower this morning, because of the steam. And now that she did...

Her heart broke to see his back, arms, and chest covered with a crisscrossed pattern of scars. Some looked like... burn marks. Others were long and thin, as if he'd been whipped. It seemed like Angel's once flawless skin was completely blanketed with injuries, some of which were nearly invisible, while others appeared to be brand new.

She stood frozen in absolute shock. "God... Angel... what..."

He sighed. "I told you things have been... rough, lately."

Buffy finally managed to regain her bearings, and when she did, she found herself filled with a whole new protective fury -- for him. Something she hadn't felt in a long time.

((You can attack me, you can send assassins after me, that's fine. But nobody messes with my boyfriend!))

"Did Darla do this to you?" she barked as she started cleaning the bleeding wound on his belly. "That must have been one Hell of a romp."

Angel chuckled bitterly, wincing at the sting of the antiseptic. He never really understood why she insisted on using it, but... he had to admit, he missed having her tend to his injuries. "Well, you know...vampire sex is pretty rough."

Unable to slap him because of his wounds, Buffy settled for a withering glare. "I thought you said they brought her back as human."

He kept his eyes to the floor, and she could hear the hopelessness crawling back into his voice as he told her, "They did. Then they brought Drusilla in to re-make her."

Buffy stopped. "What?"

"Drusilla... turned her. They forced me to watch."

For the hundredth time since his arrival, her heart shattered for him. Angel had always suffered so much guilt over what he had done to Drusilla... now this too? For a moment, she had an irrational wish that she could get another chance to stake the loony bitch.

"So... 'they'... I assume you mean the lawyers."

"Yeah," he replied softly.

"I'm so sorry, Angel... they did this to you?"

"Not exactly."

Buffy taped down the bandage and stepped back to admire her handiwork. "There. All done. And... just for the record? The old monosyllabic cryptic guy routine isn't gonna cut it, this time." Setting the first aid kit aside, she sat down beside him on the bed.

He looked at her feet for a while, then took a deep breath, and said, "Okay... I uh... I fell in a cross-covered hallway and stuck my hand in some holy water. I got tazered and beaten by some guards, run through with a blessed sword, fell out a forty story window, got creamed by a very pissed off, extremely jealous redneck lawyer with a Ford pickup and a sledgehammer, fought a tribe of Skilosh demons who were trying to use Cordy and the others as human incubators, then fought a clan of Baylors with clubs, and..."

He trailed off when he caught Buffy's horrified look.

She forced it away. "And..."

Angel shrugged.

"Angel..."

Another deep sigh. "Later, the lawyer had a... whip."

Buffy started visibly. "The redneck lawyer?"

"Yeah."

She gently traced some of the fine lash scars on his back. "Sounds like this guy is in desperate need of therapy."

Angel closed his eyes and sighed at her soothing touch. "Or my mighty axe through his skull."

"Evil, huh?"

She scooted up to lean against the headboard, and Angel followed, nestling his head in her lap.

"Evil doesn't begin to cover what Lindsey is. He's the poster boy for that deep, dark essence of humanity I was talking about before. He's the one who orchestrated the whole Darla debacle. And the one who tried to steal my..." He hesitated, for a moment. Was he really ready to go there? Explain to Buffy about the Special Projects Division... the Feast of Souls... his place in prophecy?

She left off her tender sifting of his hair, and tilted his chin up so she could look into his face. For the millionth time since he first saw her--a little girl with a lollipop, standing in the sunshine, innocently waiting for Big, Bad Fate to come crashing down on her--he was lost. The beautiful heart and soul that shone through those eyes made him a tender prisoner all those years ago, and had no less hold on his will, now.

"Tell me," she entreated softly, "I want to know everything."

And so, with his heart in his throat and his soul aching, he began, "It all started with these dreams..."

Once he started, Angel couldn't seem to stop talking, as though Buffy's soothing caress... her warm presence, and the sympathetic, non-judgmental look on her face, had opened some floodgate in his weary soul, and all the pain and horror of the past year came rushing out.

He told her everything, just as she'd asked... about Darla, Wolfram & Hart, firing his friends, his breakdown, the night with his Sire, and all that he had discovered as a result. He spared no detail... not an agonizing moment of it.

It felt so good to get it out...

"And... just when things were starting to land on solid ground again, Cordelia had a vision. Different than any she'd had before."

"How so?" Buffy asked.

She'd been quiet through all his hours of talking, but for an occasional gasp or sympathetic 'Oh, Angel', and to hear her actually speak aloud was almost startling.

"For one, it was about me. And... the scenes were of things straight from my subconscious. Memories... nightmares I've never shared with anyone. About the demon, and... my father. But even more frightening than those, I think... she had a premonition about a ritual called 'The Feast of Souls'. Someone was planning on taking one last shot at stealing mine."

Buffy tensed. "I don't understand. Why are these lawyers so interested in your soul? If you're such a problem, why don't they just kill you?"

He glanced up at her with a cocked eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

Angel nodded and relaxed back into her lap. So... now was the moment of truth. The answer to that question would inevitably lead to talking about his place in prophecy... how Lindsey had failed to take his soul, and...

What happened as a result.

In those heartbeats, during which he considered how best to answer, he flashed back... to a bright afternoon in Cordelia's apartment. How his fear of a dark, lonely, and endless forever was dashed so magnificently...

((Uh... oops.))   
((Shanshu has its roots in so many different languages... they consider life and death the same thing. Part of a cycle. Only a thing that's not alive never dies...))   
(('The vampire with a soul, once he fulfills his Destiny... will Shanshu.' Become human. It's his reward!)) ((Wow... Angel human.))   
((That'd be nice.))

Nice. And one of the most important reasons why it would be so nice now held him cradled tightly against her warm body, caressing his pain away...

And waiting patiently to have her entire reality shattered... again.

He took the deepest breath he'd taken since he was alive. "I guess... according to prophecy, I'm supposed to be... a pivotal figure in the Apocalypse. Wolfram & Hart have gone to all this trouble because they want me on their side when it happens."

Buffy was silent, the only sound her nervous heartbeat against his ear.

"You mean... they want... Angelus?"

He nodded. "They have an entire division devoted to driving me over the edge, and setting him free. Hence the Darla Plan."

Another tense moment, before she inquired lightly, "So... did you explain to them that he 's not exactly a team player?"

Angel chuckled. "No. I figured they'd find that out the hard way, if they succeeded."

For a few more minutes, she was quiet, playing gently with his hair as she considered what he was saying.

"So they did this 'Feast of Souls' thing on you?"

He nodded. "They tried. But Cordy and the others interrupted the ritual."

((Choose to fight.))  
((Ye don't belong here.))  
((Angel? Can you hear me?))   
((Let go, damn you! Set me free!))

Buffy's heartbeat sped up once more. "Your soul was... gone? How did you come back?"

((Choose to fight.))

"The Powers gave me a choice. My soul could move on, or... I could return and fight."

Buffy contemplated that...how different it sounded from the Angel who had tried to *lose* his soul not so long before, because he'd lost his faith in that fight. "You... chose to come back?"

He sat up and looked into her eyes. "Yes."

"You could have... moved on to... somewhere else? You could've been free."

Angel nodded, reaching up to caress her face.

Her voice was so soft, he could barely hear it when she asked, "Why?"

Stroking the beloved curve of her cheek, he replied, "Do you really have to ask?"

Buffy swallowed stiffly and met his intense gaze. "Then... I guess your soul isn't as... frail as it used to be."

He looked at her gravely. "No. It's not."

She searched those deep, mahogany pools that so haunted her dreams. "What aren't you telling me, Angel? You have 'hide things from Buffy for her own good' face."

Angel glanced away. "It's hard to explain."

She tucked a gentle fingertip under his chin and raised his gaze to hers once more. "Tell me. It seems like you should have lost your soul a couple of times, recently, and yet... here you are. Fully soulful."

He nodded slowly. "Here I am." He paused, listening to her breath quicken... her pulse begin to pound. Did some part of her already know? Had her soul looked into his and discovered the truth?

Sitting up all the way, he shifted until they were fully face to face.

"The Feast lifted my soul. For all intents and purposes, I'd gone on to... Heaven, for lack of a better term. Only... because the others interrupted the ritual, I wasn't fully gone. I was trapped between the worlds. I told you that They gave me a choice, and I chose to come back. Essentially, my soul was set free, and by deciding to return, I voluntarily took possession of it again."

Buffy's eyes widened. "What... what does that... what are you saying?"

"I'm saying... the Curse is broken, Buffy. My soul is mine, because I chose to fight. To return to this life. Magick had nothing to do with it. There is no more Curse."

Her mouth dropped open, and she gaped at him. "I don't... I don't understand. Are you telling me... you mean..."

Angel took both of her small hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes. "I mean that my soul is permanent. It's in this body as long as this body exists. The only thing that can take it from me now is Final Death."

He watched the full implications of what he was telling her show on her face. "There' s no... perfect happiness clause," she concluded breathlessly.

He shook his head. "No. I'm allowed to be... happy."

Her shocked gaze fell away. "I can't... believe it."

It was her fondest dream come so beautifully true. Well... her fondest dream *after* him becoming human...

"How long have you known..." she murmured.

"A few weeks. I've been in pretty rough shape for a while, because of the nature of the ritual," he babbled, gesturing at his chest, "That's why a lot of these aren't healing right. Wesley thinks I lost a lot of life force in the struggle to return, and it'll take a while before..."

"Were you even going to tell me?" Buffy interrupted softly.

Angel's heart sank to hear the hurt in her voice. How could he possibly explain his reasons for not informing her? Or how agonizing that decision had been? She was still angry, deep down, that he'd left her in the first place... how would she ever understand why he didn't let her know when the most pressing reason why he'd left no longer existed?

All he could do was respect her enough to give her the truth... and deal with the consequences.

"It was the first thing I considered when Wesley told me. The first thought that popped into my head was... to call you. Or come see you. Tell you, somehow."

Buffy raised her eyes to his once more, and his heart broke to see tears shining in them. "Why didn't you?"

He sighed and brushed her cheek softly with the back of his hand. "I know that it upsets you when I say this, but... you have to believe it's true. And I've always had nothing but the best of intentions when I say it. I want you to be *happy*, Buffy. That's all I've ever wanted, from the first moment I saw you, and you brought light to my world after it had been utterly dark for a very long time. I want you to have... everything in life that's nice and beautiful and... perfect. I want you to always be smiling, and have that illumination about you. I want you to live and laugh as much as you can, because that's what makes you so special. I never thought I could give that to you... not... being what I am. Permanent soul or no. It wasn't just because I couldn't make love to you, Buffy. That was just a small..." he chuckled softly. "Okay, so... that was a big part of it. But definitely not everything. And when I found out about my soul, and I realized that barrier between us was gone... it made me look even harder at all the other things I could never give you. Things that... I wanted *so* much for us to share... "

"Sunshine and rugrats?" she sniffled.

Angel smiled at her. "And minivans and PTA meetings, and making love in a sunlit field of grass."

Buffy took the hand he'd held on her face through his dramatic speech, and kissed the palm tenderly. "I think the 'field of grass' one's new."

"Yeah, well... it's a recurring dream of mine. Anyway, the point is... whether I liked him or not, Riley was a good guy. I knew he would take care of you, and give you all the things I never could. So I thought... leaving you to be happy with him was the greatest gift that I could give."

Buffy let their entwined hands fall into her lap, and stared down at them... she traced the broad, graceful fingers... brushed the smooth, pale skin... the hands of the only man she had ever loved. She looked back into his eyes once more. "And yet... you're here. Riley's not."

Angel nodded. "I would never leave you alone at a time like this. I don't care what had happened between us."

She smiled sadly. "In Riley's defense... he's sort of in the jungle. He's not allowed contact with civilians. He doesn't even know."

The vampire frowned. "Nonetheless."

"But you still didn't tell me, Angel... even when you knew he was history."

He inhaled deeply. "No. I wanted to. Every time I looked into your eyes... every time I touched you. I just... didn't know how. I was afraid of your reaction if I told you everything."

She gave him a look that was soft and stern in equal measure. "You could never tell me anything that would make me love you any less. I thought that was a pretty well-established fact."

He stroked her tiny fingers, entwined so tightly in his. "I guess, maybe... I didn't believe it was possible. I didn't know how to... hope for this anymore."

Buffy suddenly began to tremble, her eyes filling with tears. "I really don't know what to say."

Angel gave her hands a gentle squeeze, and smiled. "You don't have to say anything, Buffy. I don't want anything at all from you."

A little flash of hurt played across her features. "You don't?"

"No, that's... not what I mean. Of course I want *you*. I've always wanted you, but..."

She got up on her knees and inched closer. "But what?"

He looked at her seriously. "But... Our lives are still complicated. We still are what we are. None of that has changed."

A smart grin appeared on her lips that pulled his heartstrings tight, and he was once again reminded how very, very difficult it was to resist her.

"What are we? Lovers? Soulmates? Best friends? Allies? Fellow warriors? You mean those things? Because, no... those haven't changed."

He blinked, utterly unprepared for that line of attack. Wasn't that more or less the conclusion he had come to just a few hours before?

But some warped and twisted place inside him refused to give up the fight. Refused to believe in the possibilities that now lay open before them.

"I don't want to take advantage of you when you're in pain, either. You're grieving... so it's natural that you're lonely. And you already have so many things on your mind... so much still to face. And we do lead very separate lives. I don't know if now's a good time, or if there ever will be a..."

Buffy cut him off with a slow, soft kiss, then pulled back just enough to look into his eyes once more. "Stop it."

Angel sat, frozen in place by her look.

"Do you love me, Angel?"

His brow furrowed with indigence. "What kind of question is..."

"Do you?"

"You know that I do."

Buffy kissed him once more briefly, and drew away again, her voice a husky whisper. "I love you, too. More than anything. I've never stopped. So... do you want me?"

"What?"

Tracing the line of his jaw, her lips only inches from his, she repeated, "Do you want me? Do you want to make love to me?"

For a moment, he could find no words to respond. He could feel it... that consuming fire blazing in his blood, bringing every inch of his body to the closest thing possible to life, for him. It swelled his heart... whispered in his soul... raged in his loins and made his hands itch to touch her.

"Yes. I do."

Without a word, Buffy rose to stand beside the bed, and in one fluid motion, unzipped and pulled off her dress, tossing it to the floor beside them.

Angel's jaw dropped... literally. His beautiful love stood there in all her glory -- a Goddess, nothing more and nothing less.

He remembered the first time they made love... her simple cotton camisole and panties. And on the Day That Wasn't, pink bikinis and a tank top. But now...

Now she stood before him in a lacy black bra, and... a matching... tiny... black... silk... g-string.

He continued gaping as he drank in the sight, his eyes traveling slowly up the long, lean curves and turns of her body, until he met her eyes once more.

Oh, no... this Buffy was certainly not the same innocent young girl he had fallen in love with all those years ago. This was a woman... certain of who she was... and who she wanted.

He was beginning to think that was a very good thing, indeed.

Her smile managed to be loving and deeply predatorial at the same time, and he felt her words in his very bones as she purred, "I'm not a little kid anymore. I know the difference between sex to ease pain, and making love with the one person you adore more than life itself. I know how difficult things can be for us. And I know that we have a lot that we still need to work through. But more than that, I know... I don't care. I love you. I want to be *with* you, in every possible way. That's all I've ever wanted. So... I'll ask you again--do you want me, Angel?"

He stared at her for a split second more, and then his response was as purely primal as any act he'd ever committed as a vampire. Quicker than her eye could track, he lunged for her, claiming her fiercely in his arms, devouring her mouth with long, hungry kisses as he clutched her against him. He was lost in it for a long, long time, until...

"Ow... um... ow?"

For a moment, neither of them were quite sure who'd made the objection, until Buffy pulled away, and they both glanced down at his newly bandaged abdomen.

"Oh! Angel! I'm sorry!" she gasped.

"No... it was me," he chuckled, "I was the attacker."

She grinned up at him. "But I did kind of goad you into it."

Angel softly fondled a lock of her hair between his fingers. "Maybe... slow and gentle is the way to go, for now."

Buffy's smile spread, lighting up her whole face. "I think I can handle that... this time."

She raised up on tiptoe and claimed his face in her hands, brushing a whisper soft kiss to his lips. Angel sighed, drawing his hands up the lean lines of her back to the nape of her neck, and into her hair, pulling her closer...

"Buffy..." he breathed in her ear as he nibbled around its edges.

"Yes?" she murmured, winding her fingers in his thick, soft locks.

"I want you."

She couldn't help herself. She gave a throaty laugh, and ground her lower body into his, earning herself another deep moan as his lips continued their tingling journey down the side of her neck.

"Good thing... or I'd have to wonder what the Hell you were thinking about," she murmured, pressing herself into his very apparent arousal.

Angel chuckled, then with a deep sigh, all discussion ceased.

Their mouths met for another kiss, a deeper one this time, tongues plunging softly against one another, tasting edges of blunt teeth and palette, nipping and suckling at lips.

Angel let his hands wander freely, molding his palms to the curve of her waist, over the rise of her rear. He cupped the muscles firmly, before moving over to trace the line of her g-string between her cheeks, eliciting a guttural moan from his mate as the finger continued down. Buffy raised a leg up to his hip, and Angel took advantage of the angle to dip into the already plentiful moisture building in her center. Her scent permeated the air... that warm musk that he so often smelled in his dreams, and his entire body throbbed in an animalistic response to the hormonal signal.

"God... Buffy..." he groaned.

"Yes..." she gasped.

He stroked her sex languidly, following the hills and valleys of warm, plumping flesh, reveling in the sensation of her heartbeat quickening against his chest as she grew warmer still. He had forgotten this... the intensity of her wet, vital heat... the searing of her innermost core that almost set fire to his cold skin.

Buffy lowered her leg, cutting off his ministrations and making him whimper unconsciously at the loss of contact. But when she stepped back, unclasped her lacy bra and tossed it away, setting her small, perfectly formed breasts free to his devouring eyes...

He pretty much forgot what had been happening a moment before. His hands roved of their own accord to cup the soft globes, teasing their rosy nipples to instantly diamond-hard peaks, and watched in wonder as she threw her head back, her golden hair tumbling over her shoulders, and shuddered fiercely from head to toe under his hands.

Like magic, her body... and he a sorcerer. It was almost surprising, how well he still remembered how she liked to be touched... how she purred when he dipped his head down to lave at the fine column of her neck... how she gasped as he followed the cut of her collarbone, all the while tenderly caressing her breasts, teasing circles around the dusky tips.

Beautiful. Every inch of her a spectacular miracle of warm, delicious life.

Buffy felt like he had set her on fire. Every inch of her body tingled with electricity, goosebumps rising over her skin from his cool hands... his wet, gentle mouth... Sounds she didn't remember ever making before escaping from her throat as his tongue blanketed her... drawing lines of pure bliss across her chest, before tenderly taking one nipple between his lips... suckling it so achingly slowly between his teeth, then his tongue darted out and over the tip, making her gasp aloud.

"God, Angel! You feel so... good..."

He merely moaned in response, and turned his lavish attentions to her other nipple.

Buffy reached between them, undoing his slacks with deft fingers, pulling the material aside and caressing his erection through the silk of his boxers. Angel pulled her closer, clutching her rear with a gasp as he thrust into her hand.

She gently urged him back onto the bed, tugging his pants down and kicking them away as he stretched out.

For a long while, she stood and gazed down at him. Even with the scars... or maybe, somehow, because of them... he was incredibly beautiful. So pale and big. She thought she'd forgotten how truly amazing his body was, but her body hadn't... she responded immediately... growing hotter still, fairly aching to touch him. She remembered every square inch of him, as though they had been together more than just that single night, so many years ago.

This was another chance, for them. A chance to live that night, and all the days after, over again. To finally have the perfect passion that their love was meant to create, without any dire consequences to the fate of the world.

Kneeling down beside him on the bed, she set out to kiss every inch of that incredible form. She licked each curve of muscle... every mark... every scar... and felt a thrill rush straight between her legs when he moaned so deeply, she felt it against her lips.

He was lost in the Heaven of her hands and mouth, just like he always had been... just as he always dreamed he would be, his body humming everywhere she touched him. He caressed the soft skin of her back, encouraging her... urging her on as her small hands once again reached into his shorts. This time, she slid them down and away.

Their eyes met as she knelt between his legs, and Buffy smoothed her hands in one long, soft line down the length of his form, before she bent once more to claim his flesh. She started kissing his lips, then nibbled at his throat... his chest... searing a band of bliss down his center, until she reached his waist and lingered there, tracing the column of hair that led from his abdomen into his groin. Angel cried out involuntarily as the soft skin of her check brushed his aching hardness, and again as her tongue repeated the motion, trailing up the underside as she took him fully in her hand and softly stroked him.

Her touch was so strong and sure... so different from the times they'd been together before. That first night, she'd been innocent, depending on him to show her the way. And on The Day That Wasn't, she was still inexperienced, and they were both so passionate in their desperation to experience one another, it hardly mattered.

This was the first time they had truly made love as two people with eyes wide open. Nothing pressuring them or threatening them into clinging to one another. Just love... knowing what they wanted, and knowing exactly how to obtain it.

Buffy engulfed his entire length, taking him deep into her throat... flexing the muscles there and in her mouth to create a perfect seal of pleasure. Angel felt suddenly like an uninitiated schoolboy himself, barely in control, teetering on the edge of explosion before they'd even begun, as she sucked him in, circling his head with skillful flicks of her tongue, following the motions of her mouth with firm strokes of her hand...

He dug his fingers into her hair and clutched her scalp spasmodically, an unbroken groan of her name bursting from his lips, until she suddenly stopped and pulled away.

Her entire body was flushed with arousal as she rose up to her knees once more, her chest heaving with panting breath, and she pulled off her panties and tossed them to the floor. Angel reached up to caress her breasts, softly teasing the outer curves, then the nipples, and watched her eyes close and her mouth go slack in pleasure. He let one hand wander downward, over her flat belly, and immersed his fingertips into her sopping curls, finding her hard, throbbing nub begging for his attention. Buffy cried out and arched against him as he circled the tip softly, drawing around, then down the path of nerves that led to her entrance, teasing his fingers just inside, then repeating the motions in reverse, ending in slow, lazy strokes of her clitoris.

Buffy whimpered, grinding against his hand, and he beheld, enraptured as she played with her own nipples, and rocking her hips, set the pace for him. He could feel her juices increasing... changing scent and viscosity as she grew closer to orgasm. He could easily follow the rhythm of her ecstasy... the pounding of her heart, and he rubbed his erection up into the juncture of her cheeks even as she pressed her sex into his hand.

Angel painstakingly increased the pace, plunging his fingers deep inside of her with each pass, until her cries grew frantic, the pace of her thrusting hips erratic as she reached her crisis. The moment he felt her inner muscles begin to flutter and clench, he eased his hand away and took hold of her hips, lifting her slightly and sliding her down on his cock.

She bellowed at the top of her lungs as she came, her fierce muscles clamping down around him like a vise of pure bliss. He grunted with the sheer force of the sensation, digging his fingertips into the soft flesh of her hips, and urged her down as he thrust up and into her tight, pulsing heat.

Unimaginable rapture, this. Perfect, incredible joy, being inside of her... watching her uninhibited response. Had he ever really believed that he could spend eternity without this? Without his very being sheathed deep, held tightly in hers?

Mindless of his injuries, Angel flipped her over onto her back. Buffy slowly came down from that first fierce orgasm, and opened her eyes, meeting his hungry, adoring gaze with an ecstatic smile as he drove deeply into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and drew him down to claim his lips.

"God... Angel! I love you!" She gasped into his mouth.

"Oh... I love you, ionuin. So much... You feel... Oh... God..."

"So good! Yes!" Digging her nails into his back, she arched her hips up to meet him, propelling him deeper still... so deep, she could feel him pounding against the mouth of her womb.

He filled her so completely... so perfectly, as if their bodies had been made to join together, exactly like this. And in a blinding blaze of consuming passion, every other time she'd had sex simply vanished. No one else had ever touched her before. No one had ever been inside her but him... ever.

"ANGEL!" she cried, clutching him closer.

"Yes, love..." he gasped, raising himself up and away from her body, using the leverage to push himself more fully inside. He couldn't seem to get deep enough... couldn't ever be close enough to her. He reached between their rocking bodies and slipped his finger once more against her clit, stroking in time to his thrusts... once... twice... again. With another earth-shattering cry, Buffy came, and he drove into the grasping waves of her muscles clenching, his own climax rushing on like a freight train, pulling his muscles tight, all sensation gone but the lightning hot shocks of pleasure at the place where their frames were connected.

Angel looked down and found her watching him... her skin a deep, flushing red... her full lips open in soundless pleasure. So beautiful. He bent down to softly kiss those lips...

Then, she arched her back, thrusting hard against him, and turned her head, offering her throat. She gripped the muscles of his ass fiercely with her nails as she cried out, "Angel... Please! Please!"

He didn't have enough control left in him to hesitate, or to consider, or to think at all about it. The demon was already at the fore... loosed by the raging gale of their union, and Angel felt his face change even as he leaned down to partake of her offering.

He could hear the blood thundering under his mark... could smell her pleasure, hot and sweet within it. He growled softly as he kissed the scar, marveling at the way her pulse jumped as he laved the artery tenderly with his tongue.

"Buffy..." he moaned, and sunk his fangs into her hot, butter-soft flesh.

Her entire reality imploded, and the scream she gave this time was like no other sound she'd made before. The orgasm was more than just genital... more than just physical... more than just the contraction of every muscle in her body... far more than every nerve exploding. Her very being rushed through her veins and into his mouth as she came... heart... body... soul flowing between his lips. She was falling and flying, dying and being reborn to the sound of his desperate whimpering, and the gulping of him devouring her life's essence.

She arched her neck up, and clamped her teeth down at the base of his.

Angel cried out into her throat as her blunt teeth tore his flesh, pounding himself still harder into her as she pulled a draught from his vein... felt her swallow... tasted himself in the feast that still rushed into his mouth. He wrapped his arms around her, clutching her desperately, drinking her even as she drank him, and they, at long last, were finally, truly, and completely One.

He came so hard that he was struck senseless by the ferocity of it... he pulled away from her neck and threw his head back, slamming frantically into her as he roared her name, and she cried his in return...

Not releasing her or moving away, Angel collapsed onto his panting mate, burying his face in her bloodied throat, and shivered with the power of her essence flowing through him as he licked the wound closed.

Buffy clutched him to her as she struggled for breath. Then... she started giggling. She felt so... high, like she was drunk. Her whole body tingled and hummed, the cool coppery taste of his blood still filling her senses. She was suddenly bubbling over with it all... this joy... this perfect reunion... her life's only love still buried deeply in her body... coating her tongue... lying safe in her arms.

She couldn't do anything but laugh, and really, really hope that he wouldn't take it the wrong way.

Angel leaned up to look at her, and he was grinning, too. But a moment later, his expression grew serious, and he dipped down to give her a long, soft, deep kiss, before he finally withdrew and rolled away, pulling her with him. She snuggled up against his chest, still completely blissed out as he tenderly stroked her hair.

"So much for soft and gentle," she whispered.

He chuckled. "Guess so."

Buffy leaned up on her elbow and turned his head to the side. The jagged tear where she had ripped his skin was already closing.

He turned back to look at her with a happy smile.

"I really didn't mean to... bite you," she informed him sheepishly.

He caressed her face and grazed the scar at the base of her neck, whose edges were once again raw from his fangs. "It's okay. It was..."

"Fucking awesome?" she interjected with a goofy grin.

Angel laughed. "Fucking awesome, indeed."

Buffy's face softened, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Thank you, Angel..."

He brushed away the first salty drop. "For what, love?"

She gave him a gentle kiss, and looked deeply into his eyes. "For being you. For loving me the way you always have. For coming back to me just when I needed you the most."

With a sigh, he pulled her back into his arms, cradling her tightly against his chest. "You never have to thank me, Buffy. Just having you near is enough."

She laid there for a while, tracing lazy circles where his heart once beat. Angel remembered the last time they were like this... skin to skin... and even though he had been alive, then -- been the man that he'd always wanted to be, for her -- he had to admit that his moment... this perfect happiness... was even better. It wasn't some fluke that brought them together, this time. The whole course of their destinies hadn't been changed by some bizarre twist of fate. Their paths had simply flowed naturally back together... and they had worked hard to get to this moment.

"Angel? Can I... ask you something?"

He pressed his face into her hair and inhaled the delicious aroma of her sweat... the musk of their union and their blood combined.

"Anything."

"Did you... love Darla?"

Without hesitation, he replied, "No."

Buffy lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest. "You answered awfully quickly."

He gave her a soft smile. "I've had a lot of time to think about it."

She cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him. "All those years together, and you never loved her?"

Looking straight into his beloved's eyes, he told her the truth. "Maybe for a moment, when she was human. We discovered that she was dying, and... she showed a great deal of grace in the face of that. I might have loved her, then, but... in all the years we were together as vampires... no."

Buffy laid down once more. "That's sad."

"That's what I was then, Buffy. I was never capable of love. I didn't even know what it was, until I met you."

She squeezed him tightly, and they were still for a while longer. Angel almost thought she had fallen asleep, until she spoke again.

"Angel?"

"Hm?"

"Was she... I mean, was it... good, when you were with her? I know, 'no', because... suicidal depression and everything, but... Did she..."

Angel tilted her head up. "Are you asking me if Darla was good in bed?"

Buffy smiled shyly. "Yeah."

He gave her a look. "This is one of those questions I can't possibly answer correctly, isn't it?"

"What? Why would you think that?"

He nipped the end of her nose. "Cordelia used to make me watch 'Friends' with her on Thursdays. She called it 'cultural education'."

Buffy laughed. "Oh. No... really. I'm curious."

Angel narrowed his eyes. "You're not going to throw it back in my face the next time we have a fight?"

Her face lit up. "You're planning on us having a future to fight in?"

His indignant expression was genuine. "Of course!"

Buffy was so delirious to realize that he meant it, she thought she might burst. She cuddled closer, kissing his chest. "Then I promise I will never throw it back in your face. Unless you really deserve it."

"Fine, then, smart aleck," he grinned, "Suffice it to say that Darla was a 400-year old courtesan. Does that answer your question?"

Buffy's brow scrunched in confusion. "I don't know. What's a courtesan?"

"A very expensive prostitute."

Silence for a heartbeat.

"That... really doesn't do anything for my 'inferior sex partner' complex," she complained.

Angel craned his neck to peek at her. "You asked."

Buffy sighed. "Yeah, I did."

He pulled her closer, and kissed the top of her head. "Buffy, I would rather make love with you than have a harem of courtesans at my beck and call."

She made happy noises and nuzzled under his chin. "That's so sweet...Hey! Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Had a harem?"

"I'm not answering that."

She sat up and glanced at him in shock. "You *have*??"

Angel grinned mischievously. "Buffy... go to sleep."

She rolled over until she was fully on top of him, and began teasing his already-hardening member. "Not on your un-life, buddy. I need to practice. I don't know if I can ever measure up to a *harem* of hookers, but..." she trailed a long line down the center of his chest with her tongue, "I'll give it my Slayer best."

Angel shivered. "Please... feel free to try," he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair, "But... be gentle, this time. I'm wounded."


	16. Chapter 16

"And the lovers lie abed with all their griefs in their arms."

\- Dylan Thomas

**************************************************************************** 

He stayed awake to guard over her sleep. An eternity ago, in another life, it had once been one of his very favorite pastimes--watching her chest softly rise and fall... listening to the way she sighed or murmured every now and again, or seeing the little dreamsmile that played across her sweet lips.

Angel was so tired, he could barely move, but... it was the most magnificent exhaustion he'd experienced in a very long time. Though his muscles ached, and every inch of him cried out for rest, he was just too wound up to even close his eyes. For one thing, feeding on Slayerblood had gone a long way toward healing many of his worst injuries, and had the added effect of making him feel as though he were pumped full of coffee… with extra sugar… and maybe a dollop of jet fuel. His ribs were already mending, and the sword wound had closed once more... despite he and Buffy's numerous and exuberant activities throughout the night.

That was the other reason he couldn't sleep. All the moments of the past few days--tonight, especially--played themselves over and over in his mind, like the happiest rerun he could have imagined. Not so long ago, he never dared to dream that they would again share moments like this... such natural, deep intimacy, friendship and love. And he'd never understood how much he truly missed these surges of emotion, until he was gifted with them again.

The exhilaration of the first time they were together had been much the same, and he remembered the sensation so well…. how he was filled with the only true peace in a hundred dark, painful years. How he'd begun to hope, with all of the joy Buffy brought to his weary soul, that something better might be waiting for him, just over the horizon. How, with her pure, innocent love glowing inside of him, he could finally be a better being. Make a difference. Atone for just some small part of what he'd done. Being blessed enough to hold her hand... see her smile... there was nothing he couldn't accomplish, with her at his side.

The whole world seemed open to him, in those few beautiful, precious moments, as he'd held her in his arms while she slept. Perfect happiness.

Angel felt it now... once again, with Buffy tucked tight in his embrace, her heartbeat thudding softly against his chest. But this time surpassed the original. He was filled with twice the pure joy of that long ago night, because he knew for certain...

This time, their love wouldn't unleash horror on the world. And this time... it might actually be forever, at last. All the pain of the past year had just vanished... telling her about it... pouring all of that into her... had set him truly free.

Had he ever believed he could be so complete?

Angel closed his eyes and smiled, pulling her warm, pliant body closer still. How formidable could any of what Fate had to throw at them be, so long as they were together? What couldn't they face, with the renewed strength of their love to see them through?

***

Buffy woke to the sound of rain falling softly on the roof, and smiled before she even opened her eyes. It was appropriate, somehow, that it should be raining... just like that last time. Only now... she didn't wake alone. Instead, she found herself bundled close to Angel's broad form, his strong arms wrapped protectively around her, his beautiful face only inches from hers, so that she could feel his unnecessary habit of breath puffing coolly against her skin.

She was still so stunned by the flawless wonder of all of this... how quickly everything had changed, for them, and it seemed that all of her fondest dreams and wishes were coming true, at last.

Perfect happiness. She wondered if he felt it too... like fire in her veins... like a warm blanket over her heart. At last they were getting the chance they deserved. The two of them fought so valiantly to keep the world safe...sacrificed so much in the name of their Calling... it only seemed fair to her that they should have one another to lean on... and as reward for a job well done. After all, two warriors who banded together... supported each other... who would die for one another without a second thought... that had to be an edge, right? Happy warriors were powerful warriors.

Her only regret was that Angel had suffered so greatly to get to the point where they could finally be together.

Buffy reached across to caress his chest, and for an instant, was surprised to find it almost perfectly smooth and flawless again. He'd removed the bandage on his abdomen sometime during the night, and the gaping sword wound she'd reopened was almost gone, leaving only a faded silver scar to mark where it had been.

She smiled even more broadly to herself. ((Slayerblood, yay!)) Leaning up gently, so as not to wake him, she kissed the mark that was practically fading right before her eyes, and marveled for the millionth time at the raw, miraculous power of his body.

Angel stirred, his hands coming up automatically to touch her hair.

"Mmmm. Don't you ever sleep, woman?" he grumbled playfully.

She turned to find his beautiful eyes open and trained on her, shining with the very contentment and love she seemed to be stuffed full with herself, and a happy smile on his face.

"Not when the sexiest vampire in the universe is naked in my bed," she purred, nipping his hipbone.

He chuckled and pulled her up for a kiss.

Buffy sighed into his perfect lips...melted into his perfect arms, against his perfect body... felt her entire being flood with perfect love and hope and the first perfect joy she could remember in a very, very long time.

It all seemed so easy, now, she could hardly believe it was real. How his hands soothed her skin, making her body instantly and completely warm... the way his kisses bloomed like soft flowers against her lips, growing slowly deeper... firmer...

And in less than a breath, she was on fire for him all over again.

Angel gently rolled her over, and made the universe disappear as his caresses wandered... as he kissed her, touched her so softly, so tenderly, everywhere. His cool mouth followed trails he'd blazed so well and completely the night before... over her jaw and throat... her breasts... her belly. He gently eased her legs apart, dipping his adoring tongue into the juncture of her thighs, easing a long, deep sigh straight from her soul.

God... How could she ever have thought another man would be enough? How could she have ever believed that she could live with any less than this? Angel's mouth played her like a finely tuned instrument... tongue dipping... teeth nibbling... lips suckling with such aching tenderness that her every nerve sang like a symphony of it. Only her Angel... her beloved... could make exploding feel like flying... could make her silently shatter into a million ecstatic, quivering pieces beneath his loving touch...

And then could float her down... put her back together again with gentle kisses and whispers of everlasting love.

Only her Angel. Only, ever, with him.

"Hey... are you crying?" he murmured, journeying back up her body to brush the salty drops that had fallen to her cheeks with his lips.

Buffy peered up into his eyes... those matchless chocolate pools, where she could see herself reflected so clearly... see how much she meant to him... how much he loved her.

"A little, maybe," she whispered.

And her heart filled still further to observe that he was crying, too.

Angel smiled and softly kissed her lips. "Don't cry, beloved. I'm right here. I promise... I'll never leave you again."

She returned his smile through her tears. "That's sort of why I'm crying."

Looking deep into her soul, he circled the edges of her eyes with a fingertip. "I love you, Buffy. So much."

"I love you too, Angel."

And never had she spoken truer words in all of her days. Never had she felt something so deeply, so completely, so assuredly... She wrapped her arms around his neck and lost herself in another kiss that sailed on forever...

"Ehem."

Buffy closed her eyes and tried desperately not to start screaming at the sound of her sister's voice as Angel scrambled to cover them with the bedspread.

"Haven't you ever heard of KNOCKING?" she barked, and rolled out from beneath him, clutching the sheet to her chest as she sat up.

"Okay... now I KNOW you guys were having sex!" her sister declared.

Buffy started to yell...

But then she looked up and noticed Dawn's red, puffy eyes... heard voices from downstairs.

"Oh... god..." she gasped.

Angel sat up behind her, softly rubbing her back.

"I'm sorry..." Dawn murmured, her eyes down and brimming with tears, "Just... people are starting to come, and..."

It took all of her Slayer strength... and some that she was certain she was drawing straight from Angel's hand on her skin... to fight the storm of pain that threatened to overwhelm her. And guilt...

In all of her rediscovered passion and pleasure... she had forgotten all about her mother's funeral. Her mom. Her mom was dead. Her mom wasn't downstairs making pancakes. Her mom... her dead mom...

"Oh... God," she repeated, her voice breaking. She started to shiver uncontrollably... flashes in her mind... battling images... mom smiling... mom lying dead on the couch, her eyes wide open. Mom scolding her for not being careful when she came home from slaying with a gash in her side... mom lying on the morgue table, pale and dead and split wide open. Mom laughing... mom's ribs breaking... mom... mom...

"Dawn," Angel called softly from behind her, "Can you give us a minute, please?"

Buffy choked back a sob, and he drew her gently back against his chest.

"Sure," the girl answered, "I'll be in my room."

Once she was gone, his love broke down completely, wailing like a wounded little girl, and Angel kept her close in his arms, rocking her tenderly, and wishing with all of his might that he could make her pain disappear. Not just for a night... but forever.

He'd forgotten all about the funeral. And remembering broke his heart all over again in her name. Her anguish flowed through him like lava, searing his blood, pressing tears to his own eyes once more.

After a few minutes, she forced herself to calm and pulled away, taking a deep, shuddering breath before she sat up and climbed out of bed.

"Okay. No more time for Buffypain, now," she announced, leaning down to kiss his cheek softly, "I've got a lot to do."

Angel watched as she fumbled around for her robe and ran a comb through her hair with trembling hands. He got up and approached her from behind, resting a hand on her shoulder and turning her to look up at him.

"You're not alone, Buffy," he reminded her gently.

She smiled even as her lower lip quivered, and leaned her damp cheek against the back of his hand. "I know. Thank you."

***

When she had finished showering and getting ready, and left Angel to do the same, Dawn was already waiting in the hall, wearing the black sweater dress that Buffy bought her for her 14th birthday last year. She could remember so clearly being at the mall with her mom... how Joyce had picked out a truly heinous pastel yellow "Hello Kitty" tee shirt that Buffy knew full well Dawn would never wear... how she dragged her mom down to the Gap and showed her the dress... how mom had sighed and said she swore she would never really be able to keep track of how quickly they grew up...

Dawn looked so small and young in that dress, now, her face devoid of makeup, and her long hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Buffy wanted to scream with the unfairness of it all. Why should her baby sister have to deal with so much heartache? Had she ever asked to have her whole reality just... bulldozed under?

She gave Buffy a half-hearted imitation of her trademark smart-ass grin. "So did you guys take a shower together?'

Buffy did her best to conjure up the expected responding glare. "None of your business, nosy."

The familiar moment, which in normal times might have blossomed into a screaming contest, ticked by, empty...

Dawn suddenly dove into her arms, and the sisters held one another in silence for a long while, until the muted sounds of their father and Giles bickering reached them from downstairs.

The youngest Summers sighed and pulled away, wiping her eyes. "The Alpha Male Squad's at it already. They've been down there sniffing and growling at each other for like, 15 minutes. I think Giles is gonna hit Dad."

Buffy put her arm around the girl's small shoulders and led her down the hall. "Why am I not surprised? I thought they were gonna start a fist fight right in the middle in the restaurant last night. So... did you sleep okay?"

The teenager snorted and arched an eyebrow at her. "I would've slept fine except for the fifty billion times you guys woke me up with the moaning and groaning." She clutched her hands to her chest, and rolled her eyes back in her head, "Oh, Angel! You feel so good! Yes!" she mocked.

"Dawn!" Buffy's eyes went wide with horror, and she blushed furiously. "Sorry."

Dawn shrugged. "Actually, as gross as the visuals were -- at least as far as you're concerned -- I'm glad you guys are back together. And I'm... even more glad he's here."

She gave her baby sister another tight squeeze. "Me too, Dawnie. Believe me."

They descended the stairs to find Giles being very Ripper-like, pointing in Hank's face and shouting in his very understated British non-shouting way, while Hank leaned toward him with his own growl, and Sophie hung back, interjecting with a withering glower or a sharp yip every now and again. Buffy couldn't help but notice the whole scene was pretty calm and quiet, for what was no doubt a very bloody battle.

She was also dismayed to observe that Willow and Tara were trapped in the doorway behind the arguing adults, looking distinctly like deer caught in the headlights.

Willow looked up and yelped, "Buffy! Dawn! Hi!" And added a silent, 'Help?', pointing frantically in front of her at the bickering men.

Before Buffy could respond, the redhead's announcement had its desired effect, and the skirmish between Hank and Giles abruptly ceased. Everyone descended on the Summers sisters at once with words of condolence and support, hugs and cheek kisses, and herded them into the living room, where a crowd was quickly gathering.

Buffy let herself be washed along by the wave, but didn't really pay attention to any of it. She kept her eyes nailed to the stairs and watched for Angel, trying desperately to pretend that none of this was happening at all until he was by her side, and she could feel safe again.

((You're not alone, Buffy.))

And outside, she could still hear the rain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	17. Chapter 17

_It was only one hour ago_   
_It was all so different then_   
_Nothing yet has really sunk in_   
_Looks like it always did_   
_This flesh and bone_   
_Is just the way that we had tied it_   
_But there's no one home_

_I grieve for you_   
_And you leave me_   
_So hard to move on_   
_Still loving what's gone_   
_Say life carries on_   
_Carries on and on and on and on_

_The news that truly shocks_   
_Is the empty, empty page_   
_While the final rattle rocks_   
_Its empty, empty cage_   
_And I can't handle this_

_I grieve for you_   
_You leave me_   
_Let it out and move on_   
_Missing what's gone_   
_Say life carries on_   
_Say life carries on and on and on_

_Life carries on in the people I meet_   
_In everyone that's out on the street_   
_In all the dogs and cats_   
_In the flies and rats_   
_In the rot and the rust_   
_In the ashes and the dust_

_Life carries on and on and on and on_   
_Life carries on and on and on_   
_Life carries on and on and on and on_   
_Life carries on and on and on_

_Just the car that we ride in_   
_The home we reside in_   
_The face that we hide in_   
_The way we are tied in_   
_As life carries on and on and on and on_   
_Life carries on and on and on_

_Did I dream this belief_   
_Or did I believe this dream_   
_How I will find relief_   
_I grieve_

\- "I Grieve" by Peter Gabriel

**************************************************************************** 

By early afternoon, the sky was nearly black, and the rain seemed to multiply the mourners that descended on the little house on Revello Drive like somberly clad mushrooms. The living room was packed with relatives whom the sisters hadn't seen in years -- if ever. Dawn wondered aloud several times how it was that none of these people ever bothered to make an appearance when Joyce was *alive*. Mostly, everyone looked uncomfortable, and tried to pretend they hadn't heard her speak.

Willow felt like her intestines had been yanked out through her nose, twisted into little knots, then shoved back in, willy-nilly, through her belly button. And then whoever had been so cheerfully disemboweling her had proceeded to rip her heart out and stomp on it a couple of times before returning it to her chest, just for good measure.

In short, she felt like total crap.

Thankfully, her parents had declined the offer of coffee at Buffy's house before the funeral. Things were still sort of tense between her, Sheila and Ira. Although they thought that their daughter being a lesbian Witch was definitely a step up from being a wanton musician's groupie, and they made all the proper politically correct 'supportive of her lifestyle' noises, she knew they were still uncomfortable with it. No... she was, just as she'd always been, more comfortable with the family she'd helped to build with blood, sweat, and tears than the one she was accidentally born into.

Considering the overall mood, she couldn't help feeling nostalgic and weepy at the reunion of nearly all of the most important people from her childhood. There was something really soothing about the small crowd that gathered quietly in the kitchen, away from the main throng. Giles and Xander, Cordy, herself and Dawn... even adding Tara and Wesley to the mix felt just right, even though this particular assemblage made her miss Oz more than usual. It was mostly like the old days at Sunnydale High, with everyone banding together in a time of crisis.

And it was really difficult to miss what it was doing for Buffy. While she looked miserable, and like she was constantly holding back tears, it was still a marked improvement over her 'Energizer Zombie' routine over the past week. There was no doubt in the redhead's mind as to the primary reason why, either.

Not that they were exactly keeping it a secret. As the old gang took turns making coffee and little sandwiches and brought them out to the other guests, Buffy and Angel were ... well... Buffy and Angel again. He was completely focused on her, and every time Buffy looked like she might start to crumble, or just stop what she was doing and stare with a dazed, bewildered expression out into nothing, her vampire was instantly *there*. He'd take her hand or drape an arm gently over her shoulders and whisper in her ear, or kiss her softly. And almost every time, his attention made Buffy give just a tiny hint of her usual smile.

Watching them together, Willow couldn't help but feel that this was *right*. After Cordy told her in "strict confidence" about Angel's soul, the hopeful romantic that lived in her heart was bursting with joy to think that *some* good might actually come out of all this tragedy. Especially for the two of them, who had suffered so much for each other… and without one another.

"Willow?"

She snapped back to the present to find said formerly-cursed vampire smiling down at her.

"Oh, uh... sorry. What?"

"Could you please hand me the mayonnaise?" he repeated gently.

"Oh! Sure." She reached for the jar on the counter behind her and handed it to him. It was so weird -- in a nice way -- that someone who didn't eat was so handy in the kitchen.

He turned and caught her staring at him. "Are you okay?"

Willow blushed. "Me? Oh... yeah, I'm fine. Just a little..."

His smile was small and sad, but warm. "Stunned? I know. It's hard to believe Joyce is gone."

Her heart wrenched tightly, and tears pressed against her eyeballs. "She was almost like my mom, too. I mean... everything she did for us, and... I just keep waiting for her to walk in here and offer to make us cocoa or something." All the sorrow she had been trying to keep in check for Buffy and Dawn's sakes finally overwhelmed her will, and she broke down, grabbing Angel and sobbing into his chest.

He sighed, almost on the verge of tears himself, and wrapped his arms around her for a strong hug.

"Sh... It's okay, Willow. I know. It's okay."

He glanced up to find Buffy's tear-filled eyes watching them. After a moment, she approached, and joined the embrace, hugging her best friend and her love firmly.

"Come on," Angel whispered after they'd quieted a bit, "People are getting ready to leave."

Both women pulled away and nodded, but kept their arms around one another as they moved to rally the troops in the living room.

***

As everyone filed out the front door, ducking and running in the pouring rain, Cordelia and Wesley hung back, waiting until most of the guests had gone so they could discreetly hustle Angel out to the car. There wasn't enough sun to say so, really, and in the cemetery, he would be safe under the awning, but they weren't taking any chances of the Powers deciding it would be funny to have the sun suddenly appear while they were making their way to the gravesite. Now was not the time for explanations as to why one of the mourners was smoking slightly. Without any visible tobacco products.

Cordy scowled, watching Angel stand beside Buffy with Dawn and Giles by the front door, seeing people out and thanking them for coming. The vampire stayed close to the Slayer constantly, his hands never losing some kind of contact with her body.

Wesley caught her frown. "Cordelia... this is a somber occasion. It's not an appropriate time for personal grievances."

The brunette sighed, but her frown didn't fade. "I just don't like it. Nothing good ever comes of those two being together."

"I realize that you aren't fond of Buffy..."

Cordy snorted at his understatement.

"... but look at them," the ex-Watcher went on, "Despite the unhappy circumstances of their reunion, have you ever seen Angel look quite so... well... *alive*, frankly?"

She watched as Buffy seemed to sag a little when the last of the guests had disappeared, and how Angel tugged her more closely to his side, dipping his head down to whisper softly in her ear, reaching a gentle hand up to wipe a tear from her cheek. And how Buffy peered up at him, and despite the obvious agony on her face, her eyes were alight. Angel's brown orbs fairly shone with it, too. Happiness to be together. Love. Hope. Things Cordelia hadn't seen an awful lot of, in her best friend for a very long time.. if ever. Even after he discovered his soul was bound. After all... what good was having a non-gypsy-cursed soul if he couldn't be with his soul's mate? Or at least... she knew that was what he was thinking.

"I know, but... I just don't want to see him get his heart broken... *again*. I mean, do you really think he would survive it, this time?"

"Cordelia..." Wesley reproached gently, "For now, he's content. Exactly where he wants and needs to be. Doesn't he deserve some happiness after all he's been through?"

She observed the demon who was practically her brother in her heart, take his love into his arms and close his eyes, resting his cheek on top of her head, and rocked her as she cried.

Cordy couldn't help but think she'd heard Wesley's words somewhere before.

"Yeah," she admitted begrudgingly.

Wesley smiled. "And isn't that as it should be?"

She pouted up at him. "I guess. But I *swear*, if she hurts him, I'll kill her myself, Slayer or not."

He gave his dear friend a strong squeeze. "That's very sweet. But may I suggest that you not share that *exact* sentiment with Angel?"

***

Angel had always believed it should rain on funeral days. That when precious lives came to an end, and loved ones wept, the skies should open and weep, as well.

Of course, back when he was a less... compassionate vampire, he'd always enjoyed a good storm for a funeral because it made escape more difficult for the mourners he planned to massacre. Panic and fear, topped with hopelessness, had been some of his favorite pre-meal elixirs...

((Oh, very nice. Think of slaughter at the funeral of the mother of the woman you love. Excellent sign of improving mental health.))

He sighed. It wasn't so unusual, he guessed, to entertain morbid thoughts on a day like today. Only... his were a bit more... gruesome than most, that's all.

Only one other creature present was probably considering matters as perverse as he. The one being under the awning who Angel had been absolutely shocked to find there, dressed in a tidy, fashionable black suit, and who now stood quietly a few feet away from the others with his hands clasped before him and his head bowed.

Spike.

Angel's first instinct upon his GrandChilde's arrival (from inside the graveyard, an occurrence he wondered if others had noticed), after ripping his head off and dancing on his dust, had been to insist that he leave. How disrespectful was it to have an evil, mass-murdering, soulless demon mocking such a personal tragedy?

But Spike had approached, almost sheepishly, and politely offered his condolences to Dawn and Buffy without even a hint of a smirk, or any sarcasm in his voice at all. Dawn then threw her arms around the younger vampire and sobbed pitifully, and Angel found himself shocked even further to see Spike hug her tightly, appearing almost in tears himself as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Nibblet... I really liked your mum."

And then he remembered, when he first returned from Hell, how he had found his Childe's progeny sitting in the Summers' kitchen with Joyce and Dawn, drinking cocoa and pouring his broken heart out to them. At the time, Angel had automatically assumed that it was just another one of Spike's twisted plans to get to Buffy. Now, he wondered...

He glanced at Buffy to gauge her feelings about the matter, and found a bizarre hint of a smile on her face as she beheld her little sister sobbing in the arms of her once arch-nemesis.

Angel couldn't pretend to understand it... especially in light of the trouble the blond constantly caused Buffy and her friends, but... today, he would just have to let it go. Not forever, though... as far as he was concerned, Spike had a great deal to answer for, and he had every intention of making certain that his Grandchilde did just that.

But for now he stood with his arm around Buffy, who held her sister before her, with all of their friends gathered close, and listened to the words of the pastor.

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou annointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord, forever and ever. Amen."

And some deeply ingrained Catholic part of his brain whispered, "Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetual luceat ei. Requiescant in pace. Amen."

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to find Buffy staring back at him, tears streaming down her face. Had he voiced the prayer aloud? Or... had her heart simply heard him? Either way... he gave his love a gentle smile and hoped that if she had heard, it gave her some small measure of comfort. Though her lip trembled, she returned the smile before turning around and pulling Dawn closer, resting her cheek against the girl's shining hair.

Angel had faced death so many times... had caused a great deal more than his fair share. And though he understood and firmly believed in the natural part of death in the cycle of life... knew for sure, from experience, that Joyce truly had gone on to a better place...

He still held fast to Buffy, and wept silently for the loss of her mother. He personally owed Joyce so much... was forever in her debt that could now never be repaid, for bringing his soul's light into the world. For raising her, caring for her through good times and bad, and molding her into the strong, beautiful, giving woman that she had become. And, even, he realized as he watched her casket disappear into the earth, for setting him on his own path. For giving him that last painful push that sent him out into the world to find his Destiny.

As if she were his own mother.

((I think we both know that there are some hard choices ahead. If she can't make them, you're going to have to. I know you care about her. I just hope you care enough.))

Joyce had interfered in their relationship in Buffy's name, of course... but now, she would never know what that moment had come to mean to him.

He said a silent goodbye as Buffy and Dawn tossed flowers into the grave, and whispered a final thanks in his soul for all that Joyce had given to him, and to the world.

***

Dawn broke down and clutched her sister desperately as the service ended and the mourners began to disperse, her body wracked with miserable sobs. Buffy, however, stood strong, suppressing her own tears that he could see just beneath that stoic facade. Angel stood a few feet away as the people approached the sisters and offered their sympathies, and for their sake, ignored the dark looks flashed by her father and his girlfriend. He knew that Buffy's time for crying... truly grieving... was yet to come, and he thanked whatever gods would listen that he would be there when she ultimately broke down.

"Fancy a post-funeral drink, Peaches? Be just like the old days."

Angel's head whipped around to find Spike standing beside him, lighting up a cigarette and watching the goings-on with apparent detachment.

"No," he snapped, and quickly moved away.

The blond followed. "Hey. 'Bout that little scene the other night..."

He spun, trembling from the sheer force of will it took not to pound the younger vampire into the ground.

"Spike," he hissed from behind clenched teeth, "I'm *not* interested in your apologies."

Spike chuckled, taking a long drag off his smoke and exhaling in Angel's face.

"Wasn't gonna apologize, wanker. I was *going* to say that you're damn lucky the Slayer is as dotty about you as she is. I thought that Darla business woulda sent her packin' once and for all."

"Which just proves to me that you know absolutely nothing about Buffy. Or about love, for that matter," he grumbled.

The younger vampire arched an eyebrow. "Whatever you say, mate."

Angel turned his glare on the whelp. "Is there something *specific* you wanted? Because otherwise, I suggest that you begin making plans to leave town before sunset tomorrow. If I find you after that, I'm going to demonstrate to you exactly how I feel about what you've put Buffy through over the past few years."

His GrandChilde shot a disconcerting smirk. "Don't think Half Pint would be too keen on that... or... the Slayer either, now that I think on it. See..." he placed a hand companionably on Angel's shoulder and leaned in close, "While you been out in the City of Poufters, playin' "Batman: The Grim and Gritty Years", settin' my mate on fire and gettin' your knackers off with Darla, *I've* been back here in old SunnyHell, lookin' after *your* mate, watchin' over *your* former gaggle of goody-goodies, running what used to be *your* territory. So... I don't think you'll be seeing me going anydamnwhere, anytime soon, sweet cheeks." He concluded his speech with a cavalier pat to Angel's back, and sauntered off.

The elder vampire watched him go, shaking with rage... and his heart aching with some measure of hurt, as well. Spike was right. And however irrational it was to feel that way, the strange pang of jealousy that rushed through him to think that his bastard descendant had taken his place amongst Buffy's friends... with Dawn, and... even with his love herself... wounded him. Whether he should feel it or not was apparently irrelevant. Either way... he did.

((But you're here, now. And all of Spike's machinations to the contrary, he does *not* have Buffy's heart, and you know it. He's a body; cannon fodder; nothing more and nothing less.))

Angel pushed his anger, and selfish thoughts of being an outsider looking in aside. Today wasn't about him... or any of his damned bloodline. It was about being there for Buffy and Dawn. He turned and found them in the slowly thinning crowd, and moved back in their direction.

He had an eternity to take care of Spike.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER NOTE: The little prayer Angel whispers is Latin. Translated: "Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen."


	18. Chapter 18

After half an hour, most of the crowd had dispersed, and those who remained began to leave for the Summers' house once more.

Buffy kissed and hugged and shook hands, but all the while, she could feel the numbness that had consumed her in the first days after her mother's death crawling over her again, as if someone had injected ice into her veins. There were so many people -- half of whom she didn't recognize -- and all of them seemed to expect something from her. So she went through the motions... answered the questions (("I'm not sure what we're going to do now," "No, we don't need anything." "Yes, it is sad." "Yes, she was young.")), said the 'thank you's' and 'good-bye's', and wondered when she would just implode and turn to dust because she was so empty.

"You okay, sweetie?"

Sophie's voice made her feel something, slicing through her nerves like a shard of jagged glass. It took all of the energy she had simply to raise her eyes to the woman.

Her father's "friend" looked so sweet... big, brown eyes and kind features... like a character from some PAX network show or "7th Heaven" or something, with her tidy, conservative black sheath dress and light raincoat. She was tiny, barely bigger than Buffy herself, and just by looking at her, she would never have guessed the woman was such a flaming bitch.

The Slayer glared at her. "What do you think?"

Sophie sighed, as though every moment of her life was a trial, and her lover's daughter was purposefully making it more difficult. "Well, there's no need to be rude. I'm just being polite."

"Save it," Buffy snapped, and began to move away, heading toward the clutch of her friends standing with Dawn nearby. Away from this walking nightmare, toward safety...

The little brunette followed, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back. "Don't walk away from me when I'm speaking to you, young lady!"

Buffy nearly choked on the urge to knock her flat on her ass. "Don't talk to me like you're my *mother*. Number one, you're *not* -- you're *nothing* to me. And number two, I am 20 years old. I'm not your *young lady*!"

Sophie's full lips pursed in fury. "You, my dear, are a spoiled, insufferably rude child. Your father and I are trying to do what's best for your sister, and yet you insist on making every step of the matter a strain. Well, your attitude is going to get you nowhere. We'll be leaving on Saturday, and Dawn will be leaving with us. So I suggest that you save your vitriol and focus your energy on packing her things."

Buffy felt fury begin boiling in her blood, and yanked the woman's hand off her arm. "Dawn isn't going anywhere. Not with you, not with anybody. She's staying with *me*."

The sweet brown eyes narrowed viciously. "I think the court will have something to say about that. An irresponsible, teenaged *criminal* with a history of *violence*?" Sophie snorted, nodding toward the others. "There isn't a judge in the land who would let you keep her, especially considering your perverted little passel of 'friends'...all living together like some *commune* with that dirty old man..."

A flash of rage struck Buffy's consciousness, blinding her for a moment... complete with a crack like lightning striking that sent a stinging ache up the length of her arm. When the haze cleared, Sophie was lying on the ground, cupping her cheek and staring up in horror, as the remaining mourners came running.

"Oh my God, Buffy!!!" someone... Willow?... yelped. In a moment, they were surrounded.

Hank dashed over, crouching down to help his girlfriend to her shaky feet, then turned a withering glare on his eldest daughter. "This is exactly the sort of behavior I was talking about, Buffy! Can you honestly say that you're the proper person to take care of Dawn?"

"Hey, everybody, let's just..." Cordelia began.

"You SHUT UP!" Sophie yelped, "All of you are CRAZY!"

Buffy stared at her father, shaking. "She... she said..."

"All I SAID was that we're taking Dawn home with us on Saturday! And this lunatic PUNCHED ME!"

Spike snorted. "Bitch, if she punched you, you sure as Hell wouldn't be standing there running your mouth right now."

"Spike..." Angel warned, stepping up beside Buffy, ignoring his own urge to hit someone. "Maybe we should all go back to the house and discuss this rationally."

Giles nodded. "Angel's right. We need to deal with this matter as adults."

"Adults!" Sophie screeched, pointing at Buffy, "She attacked me for absolutely NO REASON!"

Hank frowned at the two men who flanked his daughters. "Frankly, I think we've said everything there is to say. This is clearly an unhealthy environment for a young girl -- it certainly hasn't improved Buffy's behavior." He shook his head. "No, Dawn is leaving with us on Saturday, and that's final."

"Over my dead body!" Buffy barked. She still felt numb... like she was watching this from a screening room inside her mind or something. And the scene... her rage...were completely out of her control. "She has no *right* to say that about my friends... about Giles! They *care* about us! They cared about Mom, which is a Hell of a lot more than I can say for you!"

Hank blinked, but said nothing. The harpy at his side began to screech, "DO something, Hank! Don't just stand there like an idiot!"

"Mr. Summers, I implore you... reconsider your position. Dawn needs..." Giles interjected.

"What dawn *needs* is to be with her *family*... to have responsible supervision," Hank argued.

"You... you!" Sophie interrupted, "Pervert! Child molester!"

"BUFFY *IS* MY FAMILY!" Dawn wailed, clutching Buffy desperately. "I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU!"

The pain in his younger daughter's words seemed to snap Hank back to some semblance of sanity. The anger that had marked his expression vanished, and pain took its place. The woman at his side, however, seemed uneffected by the upset the scene was causing.

"Dawn Elizabeth, you will NOT speak to your father that way!"

Hank turned his gaze on her, gripping her arm tightly. "Sophie, stop. This isn't the appropriate time or place for this."

"But..."

"No, Sophia!" Hank looked at his daughter and her friends once more. "I'm sorry, honey. Really, I am. But this is the way it has to be. If you take some time to... think about it, you'll see that I'm right. So... we'll be by to pick Dawn up on Saturday afternoon, okay?"

Buffy said nothing. Sophie spluttered and Hank flushed under the weight of all the disapproving stares on them. "I'm sorry, everybody. Please excuse us," he said, and led Sophie away, still whining about her split lip.

Once they were gone, Buffy stood, shaking... staring uncomprehendingly at the hand with which she'd slapped her father's girlfriend. What had just happened? Had she, the Slayer, really lost it and hit some woman like that? Was her father really going to take Dawn away?

Giles sighed, pulling off his glasses and polishing them carefully before returning them to their perch. "Buffy... we're going to take Dawn home to get some rest."

She nodded absently, turning to watch Spike put his arm around her sister and lead her gently toward the car... wondered what the vampire could possibly be whispering to her... let her mind wander anywhere else but here... why they were in this graveyard, what she had just done, what her father's girlfriend had just accused them of, and what was happening to their lives...

"Uh huh. Okay," she said to no one in particular.

Her mentor reached out and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps you should consider doing the same," he suggested.

She finally dragged her attention back to the present, and looked up into his kind blue eyes, managing a sad, but genuine smile. "Thanks, but... I think I'll stay here for a while. Tell Dawn I'll be home a little later."

The Englishman frowned in concern.

"Giles," she insisted, "I promise, I'm fine. I just... need a little time alone... with her." Her glance ticked to the fresh grave beside them.

The elder man sighed. "Of course, I understand. But, you shouldn't be..."

"I'll stay," Angel assured him as he came to stand at Buffy's side once more, placing a protective arm around her shoulders, "If she wants me to."

"Please," she whispered, leaning into him.

Giles was visibly relieved. "Ah, good. All right, then..." He gently touched Buffy's peaked face. "Take all the time you need. We'll look after Dawn."

Buffy nodded again, and leaned harder against Angel's chest. The vampire tilted his head once as Giles met his eyes, giving him an unspoken vow.

((Nothing will happen to her, as long as I'm here.))

The Watcher returned the nod in acknowledgment. ((I know.))

Buffy turned as he walked away, wrapping her arms around Angel's waist and burying her face in his shirt. Smelling his cool, clean scent sent a wave of solace through her, even as the familiar electricity of her Angel-sense tingled up from her toes. With that, all the rest came crashing back like a tidal wave... all the pain that seemed to evaporate during the service... all the helpless anger toward her father making itself known in a rush... as if her lover's tender, comforting touch, his calming presence, and the safe haven of his arms, allowed her heart to open, and she could feel again.

In a moment, she was sobbing so hard, she couldn't stand. Angel tightened his embrace, holding her upright by bearing her weight against him.

"My mommy!" she wailed, "Angel... my mom's gone! What am I going to do?!"

He closed his eyes and held her tighter still, trying to will her agony to pour into him. He knew how to handle this so much better than she, and it seemed horribly unfair that his love should be forced to bear it at all. She was so young... she deserved happiness for her life, not more responsibility... more disappointment... more pain.

They stood there together for a long while, Buffy's keening echoing hollowly against the inside of the tarp above them. Angel simply held her, at a loss for any words of consolation. No matter how much he might want to do more, there was nothing he could give her but his support, his arms, and his love.

All of which she already had in spades.

Finally, she began to calm, until at last she was merely sniffling quietly against him.

Angel retrieved his handkerchief from his overcoat pocket and handed it to her, receiving a tiny, sad smile as reward.

"Thanks," Buffy whispered, and blew her nose loudly. When she pulled the scrap of cloth away and looked down at it, her smile grew, just a little, as she looked up at him again. "Why don't I just hang onto it?" she teased, and stuck it into her own pocket.

He smiled and tenderly caressed her tear-flushed face. "Better?"

"Not really," she admitted, "But... less total nervous breakdown-y."

He tucked a wild lock of her hair behind her ear. "It's okay to cry, Buffy. She was your mom... no one expects you to be any stronger than you've already been."

She gazed adoringly into his eyes, and couldn't stop herself from reaching up to trace the edge of his jaw. "I love you. I don't know how I ever would have made it through this if you hadn't come."

Angel gave her a wry half-grin, recalling with a secret pang of male pride how Buffy had clocked her father's sharp-tongued wench. "Oh... I have a feeling you would have managed."

"Maybe, but... I'm glad you're here anyway." Buffy wrapped her arms tightly around his waist once more, and he pulled her close, laying soft kisses in her hair.

"I am too, sweetheart."

They held one another quietly, looking down at Joyce's gravestone for a while, until

Buffy spoke again.

"You know... it's so ironic, how all this happened."

Angel buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her essence... the salty aroma of her sorrow, which still managed to be uniquely Buffy-sweet and wonderful to his senses, like everything else about her. "How all of what happened?"

"The worst thing I've ever been through in my life... the biggest loss, and still..." she glanced up at him, her green eyes filled with tears once more. "It brought you back to me. Almost like... a last gift from mom."

He tucked her chin in his hand and placed a tender kiss to her trembling lips. "That' s a beautiful way to think of it, love," he whispered.

Buffy sighed and stepped away from him to stand by the grave. "I just... can't go back to that house, with all those people there. I hardly know half of them, and some of the ones I supposedly do know -- my dad being the most ulcer-inducing example..." she shook her head angrily, "Where were they when we first moved here, and mom could barely make ends meet? Where were they when Dawn's appendix burst and mom had to take time off from work to take care of her? And worst of all -- where were all of them when she was *sick*?" Her voice broke once more as she went on, "I mean, God! They all care enough to show up with flowers and soup when she's *dead* -- why didn't they come when it might have *helped*?"

Angel stepped toward her and took her hand. "People are a frightened of things that remind them of their mortality, Buffy. To look at someone who's ill and see proof that life is very fragile... that they themselves aren't infinite... that's hard to take. It's not that they don't care."

"I guess." Buffy gave his hand a squeeze, and looked up at him. "What's it like? I mean... what does it *feel* like, to be immortal?"

He took a long moment to think about it. How did it feel to know that what happened to Joyce... or a million other ways that human beings met their end -- were simply out of his realm of possibility?

"Well... as far as the demon goes--and, I imagine, for most vampires-- that's just the way it is. They don't care one way or the other what eternity means, as long as they have it. But... me, personally?" He sighed wearily. "It feels like a very long time -- too long -- to have to exist. Especially..." He trailed off.

"Especially?" Buffy encouraged.

His voice was shot through with sadness as he went on. "Especially knowing that... eventually... I would have to bury everyone that I love."

Buffy pulled him close. She'd never really thought about that... how Angel might feel about the incontrovertible fact that the humans around him -- even barring supernatural disasters -- would eventually die and leave him alone. She had no idea how to make something like that better, so she just hugged him harder.

"Let's just say that I don't relish the idea of living forever," he added softly.

"So... you... want to die?" She asked, absently fingering the lapel of his coat.

He chuckled at her earnest question. "I'd like to get old and grey and senile... maybe have a houseful of laughing, sticky-faced grandchildren, first, but... yeah. I guess it would be nice to know that there's an end to it, somewhere..."

((To know there's a possibility... I can grow old with you... die knowing we shared an entire lifetime together...))

"I'm not afraid to die," Buffy said, looking back at the grave, "I mean, been there, done that... not even worth writing a postcard home about, but... I just can't imagine not... *being* anymore, you know? And... the idea that when I'm gone... nothing I've done in my whole life will really matter much at all."

He gave her a gentle squeeze. "It matters to the people who love you... who miss you. Look at all the people that were here today... how your mother touched them. Even though she's gone on... her effect on them... on you... on all of us remains."

She turned her little smile on him again. "Is it... scary? The other side?"

Angel sighed and shook his head. "No... it's not scary. It's... soothing. Safe. Nothing there is painful... and... there's light as far as the eye can see. Of course, I wasn't there very long, but... while I was...my sister came to me... and my father."

Buffy gaped at him in shock. Angel had never, once, in all the time they'd known one another, mentioned the human family that he had slaughtered, after that brief, "I killed mine... with a song in my heart," a million years ago.

"What... happened?" she whispered. "Did they... talk to you?"

Angel shrugged, as if to brush off the weight of the memory, but replied, "I don't remember a lot of details, but... I know that they're at peace. My father said... that he was proud of the work I've done... since the Curse. And that they're watching. Waiting for me to join them."

Buffy's heart squeezed painfully as he spoke... she had forgotten that he carried so much anguish and loneliness. She had wondered more than once since they met how he managed to go on at all, with that inside of him. But now as she looked up into his eyes, she could see real hope shining there... and thought maybe she had an inkling at last what the Feast of Souls might really meant to him. How much the life he'd built in Los Angeles must ease that burden... at least a little.

Overwhelmed, she dove back into his embrace, her tears returning in a rush. How could she ever have been so selfish to think that his leaving had only been about her? Her pain... what she wanted... when all along, he had only been seeking a Destiny and answers of his own.

Holding her close, Angel cried into her hair, remembering... his sister's laughter as she called to him to come play in the garden. The real affection and pride in his father's eyes -- the first he'd ever received from him. And... the beginning of a genuine hope that maybe... he could truly be forgiven... the first such feeling he'd had since...

He pulled away to look into Buffy's eyes. ((Since her...))

"Buffy...your mom will always be with you. Watching over you. She'll always be proud of you... just like she was when she was alive. And someday... you'll be together again," he whispered, closing his eyes and letting the truth of it wash through him as he held her fast once more. "I know you will."

"I hope so," Buffy sniffled in return, and wished with all of her heart that it would be true.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	19. Chapter 19

_My own Beloved, who hast lifted me_   
_From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,_   
_And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown_   
_A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully_   
_Shines out again, as all the angels see,_   
_Before thy saving kiss ! My own, my own,_   
_Who camest to me when the world was gone,_   
_And I who looked for only God, found thee !_   
_I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad._   
_As one who stands in dewless asphodel_   
_Looks backward on the tedious time he had_   
_In the upper life,--so I, with bosom-swell,_   
_Make witness, here, between the good and bad,_   
_That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well._

~ "Sonnets From the Portuguese - XVII" Elizabeth Barrett Browning  
****************************************************************************

Buffy and Angel took their time walking back to the house, hand in hand, surrounded by companionable silence. He wondered at the apparent peace of the town -- there were no signs of vampires or any other creatures nearby, and usually, Sunnydale was crawling with them, even at this early hour. But the streets were empty and quiet, without being eerily so, and Angel was once again surprised by the sense of safety and contentment that surrounded he and his love as they walked along. It was almost as though their entwined hands created some sort of electric circuit that poured out and over their forms like an aura. And within that sacred bubble, even the sadness of the day became more of a soft ache than the stabbing pain it might have been.

He took long, deep breaths of the clean air, and reveled in the many soft scents on the breeze: the rain and the nearby woods... the first blossoms of spring in the parks and gardens, and the sweet vanilla scent of his mate's skin.

Some part of him desperately wished that these moments out of time could last forever... that the problems that would inevitably come tomorrow would just stay there and leave the two of them to this cocoon of well-earned ease.

But there were Destinies to fulfill and Armageddon's to prevent... vampires to slay and souls to save, and he knew that this might be the last reprieve they would be allowed to share for a long time to come. Maybe ever. He fully intended to enjoy it while it lasted.

Angel thought briefly of telling Buffy about Shanshu. Wondered if he should share that still, small piece of hope living deep in his heart, that someday all of the battles would be behind them. That there was some chance, however slight, that they might really be what they felt like they were right this moment -- two lovers walking hand in hand, alone with their thoughts and the cool spring night, nothing more urgent before them than the next step they took together.

But what would he say? And would it really be a gift, to tell her? He had almost succumbed to the shining temptation of a promised reward himself -- lost sight of the inherent value of the journey by keeping his eyes nailed firmly to its conclusion. Granted, in times of some of his worst despair, before he had come to doubt the prophecies were true at all, it had been something to hold onto when all else slipped away. But Angel didn't want Buffy to focus on a Someday she might not live to see... he wanted her to live for now, for today -- see the beauty in every moment that passed, and learn to appreciate what they already had, as he was just learning to do. The time he shared with her had come to mean a great deal more than some vague promise of humanity, and having broken the chains of 'shouldn't' and 'can't' when it came to loving her gave him the feeling that he really couldn't ask for more.

Someday he would tell her, maybe. But for now... now was much more than enough.

"I wonder where all the monsters are?" Buffy thought aloud, "I mean... I doubt they' re taking the night off in honor of the Slayer's mother..."

Angel chuckled softly, pushing away the nagging certainty that the underground denizens of Sunnydale were gathering with those émigré's from Los Angeles, and preparing to ignite the next world-threatening disaster together.

Not tonight. They would have plenty of time for the apocalypse tomorrow.

"You never know. They do take Halloween off, after all," he reminded her lightly.

She nodded. "True."

They approached the house at last, and found all the cars that had been there earlier were gone. Buffy stopped at the foot of the walk, turning to face him, and pressed herself close, wrapping her arms around his neck and suddenly giving him a long, deep kiss.

Angel pulled away and smiled down at her. "What was that for?"

As surprising as it was, he would almost say that she was beaming as she said, "For everything.. from the Harvest to now. Especially now. I want you to know that... even if I didn't always show it... I appreciate everything you've ever done for me. Thank you."

If he could have, he no doubt would have blushed at the heartfelt emotion in her words. He took one of her hands and held it softly to his lips. "Don't thank me, Buffy. Just be with me."

She leaned up and whispered into his mouth, "I will. Always."

***

They were surprised to find the inside of the house dark and empty. But Dawn had enough presence of mind to leave a very large note taped to the banister, written on neon pink paper, so there was no way Buffy could possibly miss it as she came in.

She plucked the missive from the rail and read it, then smiled up at Angel again. "She's staying over with the others at Giles'. Says she thought we might like some 'alone time'... in quotes."

He chortled softly. "That's very generous of her."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I think Dawn's obsessed with our sex life."

"Hm," he murmured, pulling her into his arms, "That's impression I got yesterday. I think she said something about 'hot, steaming monkey sex.'"

She laughed. "Ew! That's just... twisted!"

Angel frowned half-heartedly. "As mortifying as it is, I guess it's normal. I was pretty frisky at her age, too." As if to demonstrate, he leaned down and began nibbling on Buffy's ear.

She giggled. "Frisky?"

"Mmhm."

"As opposed to *now*, when you're... what, exactly?" she teased.

His tongue wandered down to her throat as his hands smoothed up her back, "Not celibate after a hundred years more or less completely without?" he rumbled into her skin.

Moaning, she replied, "Sounds perfectly reasonable to me."

Angel suddenly pulled away, this time with a real frown. "Are you sure Dawn will be safe with the others? Shouldn't one of us..."

Buffy tugged him back down to her lips by his shirt. "They're all together. Spike is with them. Don't worry."

He drew back once more. "Is that really supposed to make me feel better? That *Spike* is with them?"

Catching his tone, Buffy shot him a sly grin. "Why, are you jealous?"

The fact that she touched a raw nerve only darkened his look as he glanced away. "That's not the point." Turning slowly, the vampire paced toward the living room before he spun to face her again, anger and concern staining his rich voice. "Have you, of all people, forgotten what he *is*? The things he's *done*?"

Buffy scowled. "No, I haven't. But he's..."

"He's what, Buffy? A barely tethered, psychotic monster? A vicious mass murderer? A sadistic serial killer? The only thing that makes him different from the demons you are sworn to destroy is one little microchip that *forces* him to refrain from slaughter. Come on! Do you really trust him with your life? With *Dawn's*?"

Hands on hips, she stalked toward him. "No, I don't trust him! Not any farther than I can throw him! Which... actually is pretty far, so that might not be the best metaphor. But that's beside the point! I'm not *stupid*, you know!"

Angel softened some. "I wasn't trying to imply that you're stupid." He sunk onto the couch and looked down at his hands folded on his knees. "I know what he is -- better than anyone. I lived with him, remember? I *can't* set aside the things I've seen him do. The... torture..." he shook his head before looking up at her again. "How many times has he tried to kill you? Can you even count? And yet... you seem to put some... misplaced confidence in his willingness to help being altruistic. It worries me. A lot."

With a sigh, Buffy sat beside him and took one of his hands. "It's not just the chip, Angel. Maybe it started out that way, but... I think Spike really cares about Dawn. They have some... weird bond and believe it or not, there have been a few times when he could have easily stood back and watched me die, but he didn't."

When Angel looked up at her, his eyes flashed -- Buffy was certain, this time, with jjealousy. "That's because he's *obsessed* with you! He's always had a warped fascination with the Slayer... and the fact that you're stunningly beautiful and can kick his ass into next week without breaking a sweat is just more of a turn-on."

She inched closer with a little smile. "You *are* jealous."

He backed away from her approach. "I'm *serious*, Buffy! What do you think would happen if Spike somehow got rid of that chip? Or if he decided he really wasn't in love with you, after all?"

Buffy's smile vanished. "I'd handle it. And right now, we need all the strong bodies we can get. Dawn *does* trust him. So I'm giving Spike the benefit of the 'not being dusted'. At least for now."

Angel continued looking gravely at her. "And if you're wrong?"

She shrugged. "Don't those 'They' people say something like, 'Keep your loved ones close and your apparently reformed psycho-arch enemies closer?' I figure I can keep a better eye on him this way than if he was running loose."

He pursed his lips sourly, unable to argue with that logic... except to offer the alternative of staking his GrandChilde... which he was pretty certain Buffy wouldn't go for. "I'm not comfortable with it... at *all*, but...I'll have to defer to your judgement."

Buffy leaned over and kissed his scowl. "That's got to be a first."

Arching a still half-angry eyebrow at her, he shot back, "Don't look so smug. It doesn't mean I won't rip his head off if he so much as *looks* at you strangely."

She giggled and relaxed back against him once more. Angel wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, then rested his chin there and let the peace settle over them again. He in no way trusted Spike... and never would. He remembered too clearly what the younger demon was capable of... and the particularly vicious feelings he had toward Buffy, once upon a time. He didn't believe for a moment that those had truly disappeared, just because Spike seemed harmless... had put on a sheep suit for the benefit of those who were generous enough not to kill him.

But for now... he would keep the deepest of his concerns to himself. Now was time for her... for them...

"It's so quiet," Buffy observed in a whisper, as if afraid to tear the blanket of peace. "I don't think the house has ever felt so empty."

Angel glanced around at the living room's decor... every inch of it was marked with Joyce's presence, and he wondered -- would Buffy want to change everything around? Or would the little house become a shrine for a family that was no more?

"I don't know if I'll stay here, when Dawn goes," she added sadly.

Angel pushed her up and turned her to face him. "Your sister isn't going anywhere, Buffy. You know that you have all of us behind you. Whatever it takes, we'll make sure Dawn stays. We'll talk to your father again when everyone's less emotional. I know we can change his mind. And if it comes down to that, we'll fight him in court."

For a moment, Buffy was stunned by the quiet vehemence in his words. Not to mention the fact that he was offering to help her take her father to *court*. But she quickly recovered, and gave him an evil little grin. "Can you recommend a good lawyer?"

Growling, Angel nipped the end of her nose. "Only if you're *evil*. And...you may be wicked, Summers, but I don't think you qualify as that."

The smile she had just regained suddenly vanished as she sobered once more. " You know... I keep wanting to freak out to Mom about what a loser Dad is being. But... no matter what he did... or, didn't do, like show up or call half the time when he was supposed to... Mom would never say one bad word about him in front of us. I think the nastiest comment she ever made was that he was just a human being, and made mistakes just like the rest of us. She was always really..." Buffy paused, searching for the right word. "Fair, I guess."

Angel nodded. "Your mother was very patient and even handed. Even after... everything that happened with me, she was nothing but kind. I admired her a great deal for being able to look beyond the negative and see... whatever else was there."

"Spike, too. They were always hanging out, chatting... Mom used to say it was too bad he was an evil, soulless monster, because he seemed like such a nice guy underneath."

She caught Angel's dark expression, and immediately regretted saying it. He sighed, and smiled in spite of himself... it just went to show that Joyce had been a generous spirit indeed.

"I miss her," Buffy added softly.

The sadness in her words tugged his heartstrings once more. She sounded so young. Sometimes he forgot that she really was, still. He pulled her back against him and cuddled her tightly to his chest.

"You always will, ionuin. That's the way it should be."

She glanced up at him. "What does that mean?"

"Which?"

"That word... "inouin". You called me that last night, too."

Angel gave her a warm, contented smile. "It means 'beloved'. Which is what you are." Concluding his explanation with a soft kiss, Buffy buried her face against his neck once more.

"Angel... do you think about your family a lot?"

Images immediately began flowing through his mind... his sister's beautiful smile... his mother holding her belly as she laughed... the way his father would sing as they rode to church on Sundays...

"I do now. It used to be too painful, but... since the Feast, I can remember the happy times, and let the others go. Remember them the way they should be remembered. Sometimes it's very comforting."

Buffy looked up at him from her perch on his chest, her eyes filling with love and wonder. "You really have changed, haven't you?"

His smile grew as he reached up to touch her face. "That's sort of the operative definition of 'epiphany', isn't it?"

She chuckled and cuddled up against him, tracing feather light circles over his silk-clad thigh. "I like it. Glass Half Full Angel is a very good Angel."

"Hm. Well... I don't know if I'd go quite that far, but... I guess I am a little more optimistic than I used to be."

Buffy turned in his arms and began blanketing the edge of his jaw with tiny kisses. He shivered a little at the gentle, intimate warmth of her touch, and wondered if maybe he was even more optimistic about the future than he thought... especially with the possibility of her being part of it.

He tilted his head, and intercepted one of her kisses with his mouth, then pulled her away to look into her eyes. "How would you feel about a nice, hot bubble bath?"

She grinned. "Together?"

"Actually," he chuckled, nuzzling her nose, "I was thinking more along the lines of giving you one. Maybe making you a cup of tea? Light a few candles... play some soft music..."

Buffy closed her eyes and sighed blissfully. "Ah... pampering. Sounds like Heaven."

Angel got up, pulling her with him, and set her on her feet. "Why don't you go lie down while I get everything ready?"

Seeing her smile reappear gave him a little pang of joy. "Have I told you in the last five minutes how much I love you?"

"No. How much?" he teased softly.

She got up and tiptoe and gave him a long, slow kiss. "That much," she replied, turned, and went upstairs.

Angel stood where he was for a moment, smiling. "I love you more than that," he murmured, and headed for the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	20. Chapter 20

_close your eyes_   
_that you do not see the walls dissolve_   
_beneath the silent tears I shed_   
_as I reach out and brush trembling lips_   
_with trembling lips_   
_that seek to speak a truth I have not words_   
_well made enough to communicate._   
_but can speak with touch so eloquently._   
_if you will but close your eyes._

~ "close your eyes" William F. DeVault

****************************************************************************

Angel was helpless to quash the joy he felt performing these small, everyday tasks for her -- filling the kettle and putting it on the stove to boil, setting the sugarbowl and creamer on the counter, looking for just the right teacup. There was something... sacred, almost... a feeling of deep profundity in the air as though he was the only devotee in a temple, preparing to honor some divine being. Climbing the stairs to the master bathroom... running the water steaming hot, the way he knew she liked it... pouring in capful after capful of her lavender bubble bath... gathering all the pillar candles he could find in the house... placing them on the sink, the back of the toilet... lighting them with a silent prayer in her name. Such normal, common motions. Simple, tiny details that he had forgotten could be filled with so much reverence, each a statement of how he felt about her. Everything in his life had seemed so enormous for such a long time -- apocalyptic battles, resurrected Sires, evil lawyers, doom and death and the monsters of Destiny always bearing down on his soul. To do things so seemingly insignificant as searching for a relaxing radio station... listening for the sound of the kettle boiling... all done for no other reason than love...

Every moment of preparation felt like its own reward, in his heart... an honor far more precious than a thousand Shanshus. Like his epiphany in motion for the person he loved most in the world... simple acts of kindness, simply because he wanted to, and could.

He grinned at his own poetic melodrama. How long had it been since he thought things like this? Since he was so full of emotion for another person that it overwhelmed all else, including his sense?

((Since the last time you were with her.))

And so it was.

When the tub was full, the candles lit, and soft rhythm and blues filled the air, Angel returned to Buffy's room. She was stretched out on the bed, still fully clothed, eyes closed and frowning slightly. He stood in the doorway for a moment and looked at her, his heart brimming with such an amalgam of feeling... sadness for her pain, happiness just to be near her... that same old soul-deep love... and, truth be told, no small flicker of desire. He chuckled mentally to himself -- being able to touch her again really had opened up the long dammed rivers of his sex drive. He didn't think he'd ever be able to get enough of her, no matter how inappropriate the situation.

And to think... he was feeling all of this now, but it wasn't so long ago that he had been utterly empty... so numb and cold that Final Death seemed a blessed comfort.

He approached the bed slowly and crouched down beside it, reaching up to gently brush her soft cheek. A little smile spread across her lips as her big, hazel eyes opened and focused on him, and he thought for the hundredth time in only a couple of days that he could never imagine being happier than he was in that moment. Or wanting anything more for his eternity than to always feel the grace of that smile on him.

"Ready for your pampering, my lady?" he whispered.

Buffy nodded and sat up. "Houston, Operation Spoil the Slayer's a go."

He grinned and took his love's hand, pulling her to her feet before him.

Angel never ceased to be amazed at the miracle of her body. How small and tender--almost fragile--she appeared, when her tiny shell belied the magnificent strength he knew she possessed. And he was incredibly blessed by the honor of being able to look at her... touch her...

He turned her gently around, taking hold the of the hem of her sweater with trembling fingers, and drew it up over her head, revealing the warm, creamy skin of her back inch by inviting inch, before he finally tossed it aside and turned his attention to her silk slacks. They closed in the back, and as he pulled the zipper down, he exposed the gentle curve of her waist... the soft rise of her rear, also encased in black silk. He couldn't seem to stop himself from reaching inside, sweeping his hands around her hips to her belly, then down over her muscular thighs, her smooth calves, and her tiny ankles as he brushed the fabric away, lifting first one foot, and then the other out of the pantlegs. Then he ascended once again, continuing his gentle caress of her flesh until he reached her midsection and forced his hands away.

His superfluous breath caught in his throat as Buffy turned to look up at him. Was he imagining it, or did time simply stop as he gazed down at her, now clad only in a simple black camisole and bikinis, both so sheer that he could see the rosy blush of her nipples through one, and the triangle of dark blonde curls through the other?

He blinked at the picture she made, slowly bringing his hands up to cup her breasts, gently tickling slow circles around the silk-covered peaks. A thrill rushed through him as they hardened in response to his caress, and his beautiful lover sighed, tilting her head back in pleasure, exposing her graceful throat.

Such tiny, insignificant details... her tongue flicking out to wet dry lips... the barely perceptible shiver she gave as he smoothed his hands over her shoulders and let the camisole fall away, puddling to the floor at her feet. How perfect she was... her skin, flawless and golden... her curves perfectly proportioned and shapely. For a moment, as he crouched to pull off her panties, Angel indulged the imperative raging in his blood ((touch her!)). Barely making contact, he pressed a kiss to the triangle of curls before him, and smoothed one slow, sweeping caress up her body, and then back again, commencing under her jaw, drawing his fingertips over her throat, teasing across her fine collarbone, into the valley between her breasts... over the cut of her ribcage and the feminine curve of her belly, ending finally with a brush of one finger into her intimate lips, eliciting a tiny mewl from her before he pulled away.

Her breath fast, Buffy opened her eyes and looked up at him. God... one moment of Angel's touch, and she was quaking... dripping wet with need, and frozen completely solid by the penetrating gaze of his deep brown eyes.

"Bath," he reminded her... or... maybe he was reminding himself.

"Bath," she agreed breathlessly, although she couldn't really be certain she'd said it aloud. Or if she really cared anymore about the bath at all.

In a blink, he swept her up, cradling her naked body in his arms, and softly grazed her face with tender kisses as he carried her into the bathroom. He set her down and quickly unbuttoned his shirt, and Buffy took the privilege of placing her hands flat on his broad, pale, now perfectly smooth expanse of muscular chest ((good God, he's so beautiful...)) and swept the shirt away.

And when his torso was bared to her eyes, for an electric moment, Buffy left her hands there. Their gazes locked, and she wondered if she would ever make it into the tub at all, his eyes were blazing with such delicious hunger. Part of her still didn't care... that part wanted desperately for Angel to push her to the floor and take her right there on the cold tile...

But he was determined to tend to her tonight, and so he claimed her hand and led her to the tub, lending her balance as she set one small foot, then the other, into the foamy water. Watched her ease each delectable inch of her form down until it disappeared beneath the surface. She gave a contented sigh as she settled back against the bath pillow and then sank down further, soaking her hair before resurfacing with a dreamy smile.

"God... this is like... Heaven," she murmured.

Angel swallowed stiffly, shifting his stance a little to accommodate his swiftly growing arousal.

"It's... not too... hot?" he rasped.

Her smile grew. "It's perfect."

He nodded. "Good. You just... rest, and uh... I'll...go get your tea."

Buffy opened her eyes just in time to watch him spin and disappear, almost scrambling out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him. It gave her an illicit thrill to see how just looking at her body unnerved him. Not that she wasn't in the exact same boat. When he had been standing shirtless before her, it took all of her remaining brain cells just to remember how to breathe.

And this... the whole pampering thing... was so incredible. So him. Buffy felt cared for... beautiful... utterly safe and completely adored. The way Angel, and only Angel, had always made her feel. It was hard to imagine now that she had come so close to losing this forever...

She pushed the negative thought away as his heavy footsteps returned... none of that mattered, anymore. That was then. This was now, he was here, and this was going to last forever.

Her heart and body throbbed equally as he stepped back into the bathroom with a teacup in his hand. The way he looked at her... like she was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. How, as he eased down to his knees beside the tub and handed her the cup, it was like she was some kind of Goddess, and he had come to lay an offering at her altar.

She giggled at the melodramatic thought as she accepted the tea.

He smiled. "What are you giggling about?"

Mmm. The tea was perfect, too. Peppermint and chamomile -- her favorite -- with a splash of whole milk and enough sugar to supply a candy factory for years. If there was any divine creature around here, it was him.

Pure bliss. Pure Angel-love.

"I'm just... happy," she sighed, setting the cup down on the far edge of the tub.

"Good," he murmured, "But we've only just begun. Relax."

Relax? Although her body felt like a big puddle of mush already, it was awfully hard to relax when he was so close... when she could just reach out and touch those muscles... lean up and kiss his lips... pull him into the water with her, and...

Before she finished thinking, she felt the soft caress of a soapy washcloth on her skin, and all thought, even of him, vanished with the sheer pleasure of it.

Buffy had always known that Angel was heartbreakingly gentle, but as he began to wash her, taking his time to scrub behind her ears, over her neck, her chest... beneath her breasts and over her sides, down her belly and hips... massaging the warm, foamy terrycloth into her inner thighs, carefully lifting each leg out of the water to wash behind her knees, her calves and feet... between her toes...

She nearly dissolved right into the water with the bubbles, and she realized that she had never had any clue what gentle and thorough meant, until that moment.

But still he went on, urging her to sit up so he could scrub her back, then settled her against the pillow again as he began to rinse her, pouring hot water from his cupped hands. When he was done with that, he gently washed her hair, taking a blissful eternity to massage her scalp, and then let her head dip under the water to rinse.

By the time he declared her clean and helped her to stand up again, Buffy felt like he'd gifted her with a whole new skin... a pristine body, free of any tension or ache at all. She was so relaxed, he had to hold her up as he pulled the plug from the drain to let the water out.

Angel, meanwhile, was lost in the magical sensation of exploring her body... seeing her skin flush healthy pink from the hot water and his attentions as they forced fresh blood to the surface. Listening to her heartbeat respond... now faster, now slower... and best of all, how content and happy she looked when he was finished.

The fact that he was hard as a rock, and fairly salivating with desire to make love to her right that moment was only secondary. He'd nearly been a monk for the best part of a century... surely he could wait for a few more... seconds.

He claimed one of the big, fluffy bathsheets from the shelf above the toilet, and tenderly patted her dry, then wrapped her in it, blew out the candles, and scooped her into his arms again, carrying her back to the bedroom and sitting her down on the edge of the bed. Buffy watched, soothed into a sweet lethargy, as he turned and took something off her vanity before coming back to sit on the bed beside her.

Without a word, Angel turned her away from him, and began working the comb carefully through her long, wet hair.

"Mmmm... you're going to spoil me," she sighed.

"Good. You deserve to be spoiled," he murmured, holding a lock of hair tightly between his fingers as he worked through a snarl.

Buffy chuckled. "I have a feeling you'll regret that, someday."

Angel placed a tiny kiss at the top of her spine, and watched with a little thrill in his own body as a shiver ran down the length of her back. "I doubt it. Besides... it's been a long time since I could even be close to you. I have a great deal of making up to do."

She grinned at him over her shoulder. "That was almost poetic."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Almost?"

"Well..." Buffy shrugged with playful nonchalance, "Browning, you ain't."

With a mock growl, Angel grabbed her and spun her around. Buffy squealed as she lost her balance, and ended up cradled in his strong arms once more, looking up into his eyes.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways," he purred, lightly kissing her lips. "I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight, for the ends of Being and ideal Grace." He kissed her cheek. "I love thee to the level of everyday's most quiet need, by sun and candle-light." He brushed another soft kiss, this one to her brow. "I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise." A kiss to her nose. "I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints," He kissed her chin. "I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life. And if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death."

Angel punctuated his dramatic recitation with a deep kiss that left Buffy blushing and breathless.

"More to your liking?" he murmured, kissing the cheek he'd missed.

"Uh... yeah... very... effective," Buffy sighed, tilting her head back to give him better access to her throat.

Which he, of course, could do nothing but take full advantage of, brushing his lips gently over her warm, perfumed, supple flesh, teasing the curves of her graceful neck with gentle laps of his tongue.

Buffy moaned softly and wound her arms around his neck, urging him closer, petting the back of his hair as he continued on. Angel moved his tender attentions over her shoulder and upper arm, then turned the appendage over to lave languidly at the pulse point inside her elbow, before moving down to dot tiny kisses over her forearm, flickering his tongue across her wrist, and sliding in to the palm, where he drew a series of slow circles. He ended his journey by painstakingly suckling each of her fingers into his mouth, running their tips along the edges of his blunt teeth before releasing her.

All he had done was spend ((an eternity)) a few minutes kissing and licking her *arm*, and Buffy felt as though they'd been making love for days. Her heart thundered, she could barely breathe, and she felt suddenly as though she'd been sucked into a vortex of gentle storm winds and wild electricity that set her entire body on fire.

One. Arm.

She finally managed to open her eyes, and found his gazing down at her, burning with the very same fire she was feeling, but... tempered, somehow, with softer things... his beautiful soul shining around her reflection in those mahogany mirrors... so much more than just lust.

Not that there was anything wrong with the lust.

"I can't believe this is real..." she whispered without even meaning to say the thought aloud.

Angel swallowed and kept looking at her, speechless. All he had done was kiss her *arm*, for God's sake, and he was suddenly paralyzed, holding her, utterly at a loss for what to do or say next, as if he'd never touched her before at all.

"I... God... Buffy... you're so beautiful," he finally managed to stammer, "I want..."

She sat up in his embrace to be close to that mouth...that delicious, miraculous mouth that vaporized the whole world in a single, simple touch. She stared at it... its soft, perfect curve... and with no thought at all, reached up to trace its edge with a fingertip as she drew her own lips closer. The few inches that separated them felt like miles... the time it took before they finally met, an eternity. But at the end of that aching forever... contact.

The kiss struck Angel like a bolt of lightning, setting his every already over-sensitive nerve screaming for her. He pulled her tighter in his embrace with a low moan, and slipped his tongue between her sugar and peppermint lips. This was exactly what he had wanted... and she just... knew. Or maybe it was what she wanted, too, and they were so perfectly in synch, that their instincts... their desire for one another... simply matched.

When it was done and Buffy backed away, her eyes were wide and shining, and Angel was certain he was going to drown in the depths of wonder and love in those mossy pools.

The only sounds were the rain softly falling... whisper drops on the roof above their heads... her pulse racing, her breath fast and shallow. The only thing he could see was her... her power, her strength, her golden beauty... the only scent, her skin... the only thing he knew was her... his Buffy... all of her, all around him and inside him. Angel's whole world compressed into the tiny vacuum of love and want in that room, and the places where their bodies touched.

"You want..." she reminded him in a hoarse whisper.

((I want you. I want to touch you... love you. Bury myself inside you and never come out again.))

But he couldn't seem to make his vocal cords work, or even force enough air into his dead lungs to whisper, so he took hold of the edge of the towel that she had tucked into her cleavage, and slowly drew it away. Rolled it around her torso again and again, as if unwrapping a gift, until she was naked and breathtaking before him once more.

"You," he finally replied, reaching up to circle one rosy nipple. "All of you. Always."

Buffy smiled... a sweet turn of tender lips, and mirrored the touch on his chest, barely brushing a tiny fingertip over his nipple.

He gasped aloud. Every time she touched him... even that smallest caress, was like...an injection of pure adrenaline. And this... the two of them sitting there in the peaceful darkness... felt like embers burning beneath his skin... glowing white hot and slow, sparking into blue flame as her hand wandered down to his belt, and...

Angel never imagined Slayer speed and dexterity being put to such use. In less than a breath, his slacks were undone, and that searing finger of fire was tracing the line of his waist, just below the elastic of his boxers.

He stood and slid both items of clothing off, leaving him as bare as she, and Buffy took his hand to draw him back to the bed. He sat in front of her once more, stunned by the gentle storm in her eyes, and the power in her touch as she immediately resumed her caresses, slowly pursuing each line, dip, cut, rise and curve of his body. Angel echoed her motions as she had done earlier, touching the corresponding points of her softer, warmer form.

As their passion swelled in slow, rolling waves, they were both thinking -- this was what lovemaking should be. Languid, worshipful touching... exploration of every millimeter of skin stretched over nerve, muscle and bone of the one you adore. It wasn't about sweating or grunting or the simple locking of genitals... it was about connecting like this...

Angel wondered at the utterly foreign sensations this easy pace engendered in his body, and realized -- in almost 250 years, he had never once done anything quite like this. All the rutting and fucking, all the countless forms and flavors of sex he'd experienced, and still... nothing had ever, ever made him as high as Buffy's hands wandering... soothing... fingertips tracing... palms brushing... slow, soft and simple breeze of oblivion over his skin.

Any moment, he was fairly certain he would just... explode into dust on the bed before her. That could be the only result of this consuming heat, couldn't it? Was he really feverish? Sweaty? He didn't need to breathe, so why was he suddenly breathless?

Buffy stopped her reverent explorations, and he opened his eyes to find out why.

"Don't move," she commanded.

He didn't... probably couldn't, and didn't even bother to try. Just watched her... her muscles flexing and stretching as she leaned toward the nightstand... opened the drawer and rooted around inside, and then, having apparently discovered what she was looking for, came back...

With a bottle of baby oil in her hand. Angel's eyes ticked down to it, and he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from the clear container.

"I rub it in my elbows and knees at night," Buffy informed him, as if he'd asked for an explanation.

He forced his line of sight back to her face, and she would have sworn that he looked bewildered, as if he didn't understand what the oil was for.

Nah. That was stupid. Angel had a couple hundred years of experience on her. Chances were pretty damn good that he'd probably come in *some* contact with baby oil. In fact, there probably weren't a whole lot of things he *hadn't* encountered before.

She patted the pillows beside her. "Come lie down."

Angel stared at the pillows for a moment, then up at her again. She was starting to get worried. Could vampires have strokes?

Finally, he remembered how to move, and complied with her gentle command, stretching out on his back beside her.

Buffy looked him up and down hungrily. ((God... he's gorgeous...)) It was like every time she saw him naked, she was stunned into awed silence again at the marbled perfection of his muscular body. And her mind was exploding with all kinds of poetry of its own... how she wanted to worship him... make him feel like a god, the way he had always made her feel like a goddess. How he had always done such beautiful, selfless things for her, and now she wanted so desperately to give him just this one small thing in return.

She shook her head, and for a moment, considered telling him. That she wanted to make him feel as wonderfully loved and carefree as he was making her... spoil him until all his troubles vanished, just as he had just done.

But, she figured, showing was always better than telling, right? And besides -- she didn't want to wait anymore, to lay her hands on him -- she'd been forced to wait far too long for that already.

Buffy laid down on her side, extending her body full length along his, and took a few moments to indulge that urge... smoothing him from neck to groin and back again, until he began to moan, trembling softly under her touch. She popped open the bottle of oil and poured a bit in her hands, then rubbed them together until they were slick and warm.

Angel watched, mesmerized by her every small movement... anticipation for what he was imagining might come next kicking his non-existent body temperature up a notch. And when her slippery fingers finally wrapped around his shaft, he threw his head back with a loud hiss.

"Jesus, Buffy!"

Magick. She had magick in her touch, that was the only way to explain it. Enough to wipe any memory of pain or sorrow that might have lingered in him away with a single stroke of her tiny hand. With a firm, gentle grip, she manipulated him from root to head, slipping her fingers over the tip before repeating the motion in reverse. As she went on, Angel was certain she was bringing him back to life with that sweet sorcery, as jets of pleasure shot outward from his groin, spreading wave after wave of almost unbearable heat through his nerves.

Buffy nestled close as she caressed him, her breasts pressed against his ribs, kissing him softly as she whispered in his ear,

"Does that feel good, baby?"

He couldn't form words anymore. Couldn't remember what words *were*, even, and gave only a guttural groan in response, clutching her naked body closer as he thrust his hips up into her hand.

Buffy had never given much thought to power. As the Slayer, it was just part of her, like her heartbeat, or the ability to leap tall mausoleums in a single bound. But this... as she stroked Angel's thick cock, she felt a new sort of power thrill through her for the first time. The ability to do this to her usually strong, stoic lover... the way she made his body shiver, his eyes close tight, his mouth fall slack as he moaned in pleasure. She'd never really watched him, before... and she realized that *she* did this to him. *Her* touch made him cry out like that. And suddenly, she was filled with a sensation that she really *was* a Goddess, and if she could reduce the mighty warrior beside her to a puddle of whimpering bliss with one *hand* -- what chance could some Hellgod, or even Death itself, have against her?

Angel dug his fingers into the mattress, his knuckles strained to white, while the other hand clutched erratically at Buffy's scalp. God, how she loved watching him like this... how magnificent he was in the throes of ecstasy. She drew her hand up and down in measured, even strokes, following the pace he set with each thrust of his hips, and continued brushing soft kisses to his cheek. Angel turned his head and captured her mouth fiercely, biting down on her lower lip before he pulled away.

"Please... don't stop... Buffy..." he cried, "That feels... oh God... you feel so good!"

Her body throbbed in response to his outcry, and she felt her own arousal swiftly growing... hot wetness seeping between her legs, and ground her pelvis up against his hip, starving for contact as she urged him on... sliding up... caressing over his head... slipping down again.

"Yes, Angel..." she encouraged him, her voice rough with her own desire, "You're so beautiful... I love touching you."

He moaned loudly and snaked his own hand down, wrapping his much larger fingers over hers around his pulsing member. He increased her grip, the pace... showing her just the way he liked to be touched... the way that made rapture shock through his muscles, raging bliss burning in his blood, clutching his heart, his balls, his brain... washing him away...

"Oh God, BUFFY! Baby... I'm going to... oh... pleasedon'tstop... please!"

As if she would. She rode his hip ferociously, bending up to kiss him once more, plunging her tongue into his mouth for a few long, wet moments, until she pulled away and looked down into his beatific face.

"Angel... look at me."

His eyes snapped open, training on her, the mahogany irises black with lust, his brow pulled tight with the climax she could feel building beneath their joined hands.

"Loveyou..." he panted. "GOD! So much! Buffy!"

"Come for me, baby," she purred into his trembling lips.

That was all it took. Angel gave a long, keening cry that echoed off the walls as he did, his eyes rolling back, lengthening and tightening the pace of their hands as he spurted into them, his hips jerking wildly into the air as he came.

With a last gasp, he settled back to the mattress again, and Buffy reached down for the abandoned towel and gently wiped them both clean as he lay there, shivering. She tossed the soiled towel away and smiled down at him.

"You... are amazing," he sighed, and pulled her into his arms.

Buffy had always wondered about vampire stamina. Last night Angel had given her the first clues that her most erotic dreams might be true, but they had done so much talking in between bouts of lovemaking that she never got a chance to really test her pet theory: Vampires didn't have beating hearts. Their circulation was supernatural. Physiologically, whenever and wherever their bodies needed blood -- off it went. Hypothesis: low recovery time.

And as Angel rolled her over and braced his weight on top of her, devouring her neck with wet, sucking kisses, she felt him growing hard again almost instantly against her thigh.

"I want to be inside you. Now," he growled, slipping his fingers into her wet curls, softly massaging her aching folds.

Buffy congratulated herself on a pretty damn good scientific guess right before she yelped, "Yes!" then whimpered, "Please... take me."

He gently urged her legs open wider, and guided himself to her entrance, taking a long, torturous moment to rub the head of his penis up and down her swollen sex, sending matching shudders through both their forms before he slowly slid inside.

Easing himself in... sheathing his body inch by inch into hers, Angel wondered... if he spent every moment of every day for the rest of eternity making love to her, would he ever be sated? Would he ever tire of the sensation of her fierce inner muscles drawing him in, pulling him, milking him, urging him to immerse himself in her so deeply, he could feel her very center against him?

He opened his eyes to gaze down at her... watched the pleasure color her features... sparkling in eyes open only half-mast with bliss. Dipped down to taste her lips as he began to move, thrusting slowly in, wrapping his arms around her to clutch her tightly...

No... of his many vices... of all his life's countless obsessions and addictions, Angel knew for certain that this was one he would never be free of... and would never even begin to want to be.

Buffy arched up into him, circling his waist with her strong legs, little heels digging into the small of his back, pushing him still deeper... impossibly deep... urging him faster with her own rapidly growing cries. Her nails raked down his back, drawing burning droplets of blood, and the scent of it nearly drove him over the edge into senselessness. But he wanted this to last... wanted to hear her moan and scream his name before exploding once more himself.

He withdrew, sliding quickly down the length of her body before she had time to protest, and hooked her knees up over his shoulders as he plunged his face between her legs.

"ANGEL!" she cried as his tongue attacked her tender flesh, plunging into her inner gate with flickering pulses, then laving languidly up the path of nerves that led to her quivering clitoris.

He groaned deeply as he devoured her juices... the fount of sweet, musky ambrosia that poured like a river into his mouth. So much better than blood... the taste of her... the feeling of her preternatural muscles undulating under his tender assault. He could taste her power there, feel it in every frantic thrust of her hips... in the way her legs clamped down around his head, smothering him.

He was never so glad that he didn't have to breathe as he claimed her nub firmly between his lips, suckling it rapidly, twisting it gently with his tongue, and nibbling its edges with bare nicks of his teeth as her thighs squeezed skull-crushingly tight.

And oh, God... the sounds she made. Near animal growling, alternating with sharp cries and desperate mewls as she tangled her hands in his hair, trying to force him closer still. The way she chanted his name... her love...her affirmation of just how good he was making her feel as her crisis washed over her. And when she finally climaxed, her body went taut like a bowstring, carrying them both off the bed as she slammed her hips into his face with a wail that cut the air around them like a blade.

Angel didn't hesitate as she floated down from her orgasm. He pulled her into his arms and turned to sit up against the headboard, guiding her legs around his waist and setting her into his lap, once again enveloping himself within her still-fluttering heat.

She was still coming... still flying so high as she wrapped herself around him... impaled herself on him. His hands clamped onto her rear, pacing her as she rode the waves still crashing through her.

Buffy opened her eyes and looked into his as they rocked silently together... their pace growing more frantic as he rammed upward and she slammed herself down, the friction growing to an almost painful burn until they were both screaming, words lost in the final moments of pure rapture. She arched back away from him, and Angel bent to claim her breast, clamping blunt teeth around one nipple, and reached between them, sliding his fingers once more into the place where their bodies were joined as they both lost control.

Her channel locked tightly around him, and he thrust into it, pulling his face away from her breast with a shout as he shot his seed deep inside of her.

"OH! GOD! BUFFY, I LOVE YOU!"

"I LOVE YOU! ANGEL! YES!"

It seemed to go on forever... explosion after explosion that left them both drained, until Buffy finally collapsed into his arms, and he fell back against the pillows, cradling her against his chest as she struggled to regain her breath.

Angel lay perfectly still, just holding her, reveling in all the sensations that rushed through him, wanting nothing more than to stay like this, inside her, wrapped around her, forever.

It seemed like a thousand years ago--and yet, only moments before--that he had been standing in front of his refrigerator, staring at that old, freezer-burned carton of ice cream, sending a silent goodbye to the love of his life across all the unbridgeable distances between them. And now? Now they were here, together ultimately, and this moment felt solid in a way that their One Day never had.

He was so lost in his joyful reverie... his perfect happiness... for a moment, he didn't notice the dampness of tears against his skin.

"Buffy?" he whispered, craning his neck to look into her face, "Love, what is it? Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" He sat up against the headboard, pulling her up with him.

Buffy sniffled pitifully. "No. I mean... that was wonderful. I just..."

He reached up to cup her chin, using his free hand to wipe her tears away. "You just what?"

She shook her head a little, casting her eyes down, as if in shame.

"Hey... you can tell me," he murmured softly.

Buffy nestled back against his chest. "I just... I feel so.. good... so alive and... happy. It doesn't seem right, when...when mom is... she's dead and alone in the ground and no one will ever hold her again!" She broke off into a sob, and Angel felt his own tears returning as he wrapped his arms more tightly around her shaking form. "It's not fair!" she wailed.

"I know... I know, sweetheart," he reassured her, softly caressing her bare back. "But remember what I said before? She's not alone. Who she really was... her spirit... she's with all the people she loved who have passed on. Your grandparents... your Uncle Robert... Chi-Chi."

She lifted her head suddenly, the first hint of a smile quirking her trembling lower lip. "You remember me telling you about a cat I had when I was 8?"

Angel kissed those lips tenderly and looked into her eyes. "I remember every word you've ever said to me, Buffy. It's all etched indelibly into my heart."

She closed her eyes and settled down once more. "And... she would want me to be happy."

"Yes, she would."

Buffy couldn't help but chuckle sadly. "I just hope she covered her eyes for that last part."

Angel laughed and rocked her gently until he felt her relax into sleep, and imagined his own mother in the Summerland, getting down on her knees and Hail Mary-ing herself into a frenzy over his wanton behavior.

The thought actually made him smile. If making love to Buffy was a sin, then he would more than happily spend another eternity in Hell burning for it.

************************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this scene is *very much* inspired by, and therefore, dedicated to, indie, and her yummy fic, "Watcher"... go read it. http://peaches.indiefic.com/story/watcher.html -- remember, however, that it is.... NC-17, natch. *eg*
> 
> The mush that Angel quotes to Buffy is another one of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "Sonnets From the Portuguese", this one  
> Number 43. I've always thought the Sonnets were so perfect for these two... and when Angel presented them to Buffy for her 18th birthday... *sigh* Too bad she was too preoccupied to really appreciate them, then... or... immature and completely  
> self-absorbed? ;)


	21. Chapter 21

Darla was leering at her. The expression looked all wrong on the vampiress' elegant features. "You know that no matter how much you love him... no matter how well you fuck... he'll never belong to you."

Buffy snorted at her opponent, ignoring the trilling ring that echoed through the cave around them. She recognized the place... the Master's old lair, under the High School.

"That's what you think. Funny, though, isn't it, that given a choice between us, he chose me?" she shot back.

The elder woman's smile didn't fade. "That's nothing but the taint of the soul. Everything else -- his blood, his body -- are *mine*. You can't smell it, little Buffy, but he carries *my* scent. *My* mark. And without that filthy soul..."

Buffy glanced quickly around, searching for the source of that damned ringing. Was it time already? "Well... then I guess it's too bad for you the soul's not going anywhere."

"You sound awfully certain about that. Make your move, Slayer," her lover's Sire hissed, her face going course with the ridges of the demon. "Time to die."

The ringing got louder.

"SHUT UP! I'm trying to THINK!" Buffy snapped, trying to tune out the bell -- was it a bell? And Darla's cold laughter.

Only Darla wasn't laughing.

((This has got to be a dream.))

"All it takes is one false move, Buffy," the demon growled, "One step into the dark, and soul or no, he will give himself to me. You know it, and I know it."

"Bullshit!" the Slayer barked, and made her move. "B13."

The ringing grew louder. Darla snarled.

"You sank my battleship, you little slut!" she howled and dove for her over the table.

Buffy shot upright in bed with a shout.

"Y'okay?" Angel grumbled sleepily from beside her, resting a hand on her thigh.

She looked down at him -- soul still sparkling in half-open, sleepy eyes. No dank, drippy cave, no 400 year old hooker vampire getting her ass kicked at... Battleship. Just her old room, her old bed, and her beautiful lover reposed beside her.

"Yeah. I'm okay. Just... bad dream," she assured him.

"Oh good," he mumbled.

The ringing started again. Angel's cell phone. Buffy claimed it from the nightstand and flipped it open as Angel closed his eyes and turned away, burying his head under the pillows.

"Um... Angel's phone," she answered.

Silence for a beat. "This is Kate. Is Angel there?" The strange voice paused, then added, "I'm sorry about your mom, Buffy. From everything I've heard, she was ... well... Angel was fond of her. My condolences on your loss."

The sheer number of emotions that hit her all at once struck Buffy dumb for a moment: the return of her grief, the lingering discomfort of her Darla dream... and now jealousy.

"Thanks," she mumbled in reply, "Angel's sleeping."

She didn't want to be talking to this stranger, who was like a living reminder of the entire life he had built without her a hundred miles away. Not to mention the fact that Kate was female, with a deep, sexy voice, was obviously pretty close to him... and was probably calling with a report on some LA disaster that would take her Angel away from her again.

"Could you please wake him? It's very important."

Something inside Buffy -- Slayerness, maybe -- snapped to full attention and shovved all her personal feelings away. "Sure. Hang on."

She leaned over Angel's relaxed form, and whispered under the pillows. "Angel..."

"Mmmbgrubmblegmmm..."

"Wake up. Kate needs to talk to you."

"Tired. Tell her to call Wesley." Which came out more like "Trd. Tllrtocllwsly."

Buffy sighed. Not that she didn't fully share his desire to stay naked in bed all day, but...

Jeeze, when had she become the clear-thinking one?

"He won't wake up. Maybe I can help?"

Silence for another moment, then a sigh and whispered curse. "It's about a case we're working on. Tell him the exodus is getting out of hand... and we captured one of the Pootiadiep."

The Slayer's brow furrowed. "Hang on." She shrugged and ducked under the pillow again. "Honey... Kate says to tell you the exodus is getting out of hand... and they caught a... poopydeep?"

Angel gave a woeful groan as he turned over, re-emerging from under the pillows, and took the phone. "Fine. Hey, Kate. You caught one?"

"Oh yeah. We did."

Angel frowned and struggled to sit up. "You don't sound very happy about it. Wouldn't it talk?"

"No... it talked, all right. We couldn't get it to *stop* talking."

He resisted the urge to growl, while simultaneously trying to ignore Buffy's penetrating stare.

"Look... Kate, I'm tired. Could we skip the cryptic? Please?"

Both women snorted at his hypocrisy. Angel gave Buffy a scowl.

"What's the matter, big guy, rough night?" Kate teased. He could practically hear her smart ass grin.

"Just. Tell me. What. The demon. Said," he grumped.

"Okay, okay, sunshine. We were right about Wolfram & Hart being special sponsors for this portal business. And about the fact that whatever's going down is going down in Sunnydale. The sewers out of the city are like a warzone. The demon Gunn and I caught didn't know much -- I think it was pretty low on the ppecking order, but... does the name Glorificus ring a bell?"

Angel tensed, shooting a glance at Buffy. "It does."

"Well, it looks like this 'Glorificus' is our spellcaster --she's a some kind of big poo-bah of whatever dimension all these demons are from. A couple of thousand years ago, she, her brother, and a few hundred of their closest friends got tossed out for trying to start a revolution. Now this convergence thing is coming up -- which only happens once ever 500 years or so -- and she hasn't been able to find her key. So... "

"Wolfram & Hart," he thought aloud.

"You got it. She hired the big bad lawyers to find it for her."

Angel's throat closed tight in fear, forcing him to choke out his words. "Do they... know where the key is?"

Buffy gasped audibly, and Angel reached out to take her hand.

"I'm thinking yes," Kate replied, "Hence the fact that a whole squad of lawyers, including your buddy Lindsey McDonald, are on their way to Sunnydale right now. Whatever's happening... Angel... it's happening fast."

He closed his eyes for a moment to keep from panicking. "Get Gunn. Come here. Now. The directions are in the log book. Get as many bodies as possible," he commanded, fear sending a shot of adrenaline through his system that drove him from bed before he'd finished speaking.

"On our way. We'll get Gunn's guys and be there as soon as we can."

Angel yanked on his pants as Buffy leapt out of the bed and frantically started dressing.

"Call Merl... go to Caritas. They both know a lot of mercenaries. Hire them," he went on.

"With what?" Kate asked, "We haven't exactly had a paying case in a while, if you remember."

Angel tossed Buffy a sweatshirt from the back of her chair, and rooted around in his bag for a clean shirt of his own. "In the basement, behind the furnace in the rafters... there's a satchel. I think there's about 25 thousand in there. Spend it all, if you have to."

"Where did you get..." Kate began to object.

"JUST DO IT!" he barked, then caught himself. "I'm sorry, Kate, I'm just..."

"Scared shitless? Angel, what's going on? Do you know where this key is?"

He looked up at Buffy's wide, frightened eyes. "I do. And we have to protect her at all costs."

"'Her?' Please tell me the key's not your girlfriend. Never mind. I don't want to know. We'll be there tonight."

"Thanks."

Angel hung up and tucked the phone in his pocket, walking over to where Buffy stood, looking on the edge of tears again, despite her all-business posture.

"Angel, what's happening?" she asked softly.

He paused for a moment to gently caress her face. How he'd wanted last night to go on forever... have their happiness be the only reality. He kissed her softly, pulling her into a long embrace before he broke away once more.

"Call Giles. Tell him to get everybody together."

Buffy took a deep breath and nodded, looking into his eyes for another moment before she dashed off.

Angel rubbed his hands over his face.

A Hellgod... a legion of demons... Wolfram & Hart... all after one small, innocent girl, and nothing standing between them but a rag-tag army of less than 50 warriors without much more than their good hearts for weapons.

Powers help them all.

***

It took less than 20 minutes for everyone to gather at Giles' condo, despite the fact that Buffy had been forced to drive the tank Angel insisted was a car, while he huddled low in the back seat, hiding from the sun.

In all honesty, none of the Watchers' guests, with the exception of Dawn, had left the house or even closed their eyes all night. When Buffy and Angel arrived, the living room was cluttered with books and papers, and all their friends were still dressed in their funeral garb, sprawled wearily over their reading.

The gathered friends barely bothered to exchange greetings as Buffy threw off her coat and marched over to them.

"Did you guys find anything?"

"Actually, yes... have a seat," Wesley began.

Angel watched the scene with growing trepidation. The odds were wholly stocked against them, and despite the certainty he'd continued to express for Buffy's sake...

He wasn't feeling very confident at all. Maybe if they were facing *just* an army of demons, or even those demons and the Hellgod...

But the addition of Wolfram & Hart to the mix didn't bode well for the forces of Good. They had endless resources at their fingertips--power... money... bodies... even if his and Buffy's friends could figure out how to defeat Glory, there was probably no way for them to get close enough to do so.

He looked around at all the familiar faces in the room, until his eyes fell on their only true hope for survival.

Dawn sat at the kitchen counter, her big blue eyes framed with dark circles as she regarded the research party with a deep frown.

Angel came to stand beside her, not resisting the instinct to reach out and pet her shining hair. Those haunted eyes turned to look up at him, and he nearly wept to see the pain there. Too much pain for such a young child. Dawn had lost everything in the past few months... her security, her mother, even her Self. His heart broke for all the innocence his young friend had lost, just as it had for Buffy when he saw her Called.

"How are you?" he asked softly, trying not to let his anguish for her leak into his voice.

Dawn shrugged. "Bitchen. The convergence is tomorrow night. Stars align, Glory does some chanting, ra-ra, Dawn gets cracked open like an egg, and Hell spills out. I've never been better."

Her voice, despite the harsh words, was devoid of its usual life... flat and hopeless. Angel sighed.

"We're not going to let anything happen to you, Dawn. My friends are on their way to help. We'll figure this out, don't worry," he promised, and struggled desperately to believe it himself. "Come on. Why don't we see if we can do anything?

He took a step away and waited as she stared up at him.

"Well? Are you coming?"

Dawn finally nodded and got up to follow him into the living room, where Buffy pulled her down onto the sofa and hugged her tightly, giving the younger girl her own promise to keep her safe, no matter what.

***

The day seemed to crawl by, which was just fine by Xander. The longer this day got, the more time they had to claw their way out of this big bucket of crap that was currently their lives, and the farther away the possibility of everybody getting sucked into Hell became.

Too much happening at once, for his comfort. One long line of disasters and tragedies, all lined up to knock the Slayerettes down... like cosmic dodgeball. But then... he guessed their lives had always been like that, really. The joy of living on the Hellmouth.

Try as he might (and he *did* try), he couldn't resist being relieved that Dead Boy, the Wicked Ex From Hell and C-3PO had shown up. With them here, everything felt... right again. Or at least, right-er, which really wasn't saying much. It felt like the old days, when all of them could band together and defeat the baddest big bad with a minimum of bodily damage. Only... this was almost better than the old days, because somewhere during the last couple of years, Cordelia had her claws clipped, Wesley had actually developed an almost tolerable personality, and Dead Boy...

Well... funniest thing about all of this was the fact that his long-standing, deep animosity ((okay, *loathing*, then)) toward the vampire seemed to have gone the way of his favorite burnt orange corduroy hobo pants -- just... vanished. And he suspected that, like the mysterious disappearance of said pants, his change in attitude toward Buffy's undead squeeze had a lot to do with Anya. Being with her had taught Xander a *lot* about patience and tolerance, and helped him see that -- yeah, most of his more irrational dislike for the big corpse had to do with jealousy over the vise grip he had on Buffy's heart, and now that he better understood his own place there (not to mention the little tidbit Willow had shared with him in "strictest confidence" about the relative permanence of said corpse's soul) went a long way in allowing him to forgive, forget, and be damn glad the preternaturally strong meathead was there to help.

Especially for Buffy's sake. He had spent the last two years watching her withdraw further and further into herself... watched her smash a perfectly good guy's heart because she was still defending herself so hard from getting hurt like that again, that she just hadn't been able to open up. And with the string of tragedies she'd been dealing with lately, he'd become more and more concerned that his best friend was finally just going to lose it... go catatonic, or worse, go Faith, on them (he shuddered inwardly at that last thought). But like magick, boom. Angel appeared, and Buffy was... Buffy again. And despite the really terrifying situation they were currently facing, he couldn't help but notice... the Slayer actually looked really, genuinely *happy* for a change. And the two of them together looked -- God help him --*right*, somehow, in a way that they never had before.

He was definitely going to invest in some industrial strength therapy when all of this was through. Xander wasn't sure if he should throw his arms around his Anya in gratitude, or head on over to Giles' liquor cabinet and spend the evening sampling all the fine boozes his British friend had collected there.

"The way we read the ritual," Willow was saying, gesturing to the scrolls rolled out all around she and Tara on the floor, "Glory needs nine human sacrifices -- blood and life essences-- to open the portal into the etheric. Now, the power takes one Terran rotation -- a day, in other words -- to peak. The planets and stars will be in alignment at midnight tomorrow, so she'll have to start casting at midnight tonight. And that means she'll be at her weakest in the last few hours before she tries to open the portal."

"Hence the s-sacrifices," Tara added, "Sh-she'll need their life essences to k-keep her power reserves charged. It's really high magick."

"Life essences. You mean *souls*," Cordy queried, shooting an uncomfortable glance at Angel.

The two Witches nodded in tandem.

"The souls are her power source during the ritual... which will keep draining her the stronger the casting gets. While their blood acts as a sort of... conduit for the energy she raises, which is how she'll tear the etheric. Once she does that, she'll need..." the redhead gulped, ticking her glance nervously toward Dawn, "She'll need Dawn's true essence to open the gate that leads to her dimension."

Giles got up from his seat and paced the floor. "We are all familiar with Glory's strength. And we will have to assume, especially with the assistance of this law firm Angel's told us about, that she will be heavily protected by both might and magick."

Willow nodded. "As far as we can see, the best time to be able to destroy Glory will be right before she starts the sacrifices, when she's at her weakest. If all our math is right, a couple of hours after sunset."

"I can't believe there's math," Xander muttered.

"That's too bloody late!" Spike yelped, after having remained silent and looking bored through most of the meeting.

"He's right," Angel agreed, causing everyone to look at him in shock. "Well, he is. Glory has to be stopped *before* she gets her hands on Dawn. Before Wolfram & Hart get a chance to dig their heels in and protect her."

"Soul magick," Buffy pondered aloud, "If we're talking about souls... and these lawyers are involved... is anybody else thinking that Dawn isn't the one Hell's Counsel are after?" She directed the last question to Wesley and Cordelia, who sat side by side at Giles' desk.

"I'd considered that possibility, yes," Wesley admitted softly, eliciting an angry glare form Cordelia.

"Wait a minute! You mean... they're coming after Angel? AGAIN?"

Angel got up and headed toward the kitchen to get another cup of tea. "Why else would they be involved?" he asked calmly, "It sounds to me like Lindsey's made some mutually beneficial agreement with Glory... She gets security, sacrifices, and her key, and they get to use her magick to take another shot at my soul."

Cordelia and Buffy jumped to their feet together, and advanced on him.

"You sound awfully relaxed about that!" Cordy yelped at him, "You just got your soul nailed in, and it doesn't bother you at all that they're coming after it AGAIN?" She spun and gestured angrily at the others, who all sat quietly watching, and Buffy, who stood, calmly watching with her arms crossed over her chest. "Don't any of you care about this???"

"I care," Buffy said softly.

"Me too," Dawn added.

"I don't," Spike grumbled.

Angel reappeared from the kitchen. "Of course I care, Cordy. But there's really no use in getting upset about it. And I think Dawn's safety is a little higher priority right now, don't you?" He serenely returned to the couch and took a seat next to the object of his statement, who leaned into him and gave him a comforting pat on the knee.

"Don't worry, Angel. We won't let them get you, either," she assured him.

He gave her a warm smile. "Thanks."

"OKAY!" Cordy exploded, pacing the dining area furiously, "This is SO BAD! Why am I the only one who's freaking out?"

"You're not," Buffy interjected, "I'm just being more subtle about it." Internally, her organs were doing flip-flops, and her heart was sobbing senselessly. But right now, Angel was right... they needed to focus.

"Cordelia... you haven't had a single vision since we've been in Sunnydale," Wesley reminded her. "If Angel or Dawn were in any immediate danger, don't you think the Powers would deign that important for us to know?"

The suggestion seemed to calm the hysterical seer, at least enough to let her sag on to one of the barstools.

"I guess. But... I still don't understand why the last one I *did* have was of those gross demons. Why didn't I see Angel or Dawn?"

"That, I don't know," Wesley sighed.

Angel sat forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. "My guess is that They didn't want to rely on coincidence to get us here. They wanted us to capture the Pootiadiep and find out about Glory."

Buffy sat beside him on the arm of the couch, and gently stroked his hair, smiling down at him. "Maybe They didn't have faith that you would come when you found out about Mom."

He returned her smile, taking her hand and brushing it to his lips. "Then They obviously don't know me very well."

"Okay... the mush is all very... gross," Xander cut in, "But this convergence thing is coming up fast. What's the plan?"

Giles rose form his chair and began gathering up their materials. "The plan is that we simply protect Dawn... and Angel. For now we'll move to Buffy's house and wait for Angel's colleagues to arrive."

The others followed his lead, getting up and cleaning the rest of the mess, and piling books and notes into the box that Giles provided.

"The best thing for all of us, I believe, is to rest and relax as much as possible for the next few hours, until Gunn arrives," Wesley added as they moved toward the door, "And we can plan once we know better what sort of numbers he was able to gather, and what resources we'll have at our disposal."

"We can keep working on the magick end," Willow added.

Buffy sighed. "I think I should try and talk to my dad again. We can't let him take Dawn tomorrow if that's when Glory's going to make her move."

Angel took her hand as he stood. "I'll go with you."

She looked up at him adoringly. "That's sweet, but... I figured I'd be all new fangled and try to call him first."

"What bloody ever," Spike snorted, moving toward the basement door, "I'll be at Willy 's... see what the night folk have to say about our lovely Hell Hooch."

"Getting soused, you mean," Angel snapped, giving the younger vampire a hard glare.

The blond rolled his eyes. "Sure, Fluffy, whatever you say. Care to join me?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Angel replied, eliciting surprised looks from everyone. He turned to Buffy. "If it's all right with you."

The Slayer narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't stake him."

"Pft. Like he could," Spike muttered.

"I'll try to restrain myself," Angel assured her, leaning down for a soft kiss. "But I can't promise to try too hard. I'll be home by sunset."

Buffy wrinkled up her nose at him with a little grin. "Home?"

He just smiled. "We can go out on patrol when Gunn and Kate get here."

She tensed, and her smile vanished at the mention of the ex-cop's name. "Oh goody. Can't wait."

Her lover gave her a wink. "I love you, Catty," he whispered, and followed Spike into the basement.

"I love you, too," Buffy sighed to his retreating back, then turned to find the others staring at her. With a sweeping gesture toward the door, she called, "Okay, everybody. Nothing to see here. Let's move it along!"


	22. Chapter 22

The two vampires marched in tense silence through the underground, keeping a surreptitious eye on one another out of the corner of their vision as they went.

Spike clutched his fists in his duster pockets, resisting any number of urges that kept hitting him -- mostly involving gross bodily harm to his asshole GrandSire. Kicking him in the head a couple of times, or maybe ripping out an organ or two, just on principal. Who did the stupid poufter bastard think he was, anyway, just marching back into town and taking over like he never bloody well left? Yeah, so, Spike himself had suggested that the wanker's presence might snap the Slayer out of her zombie fugue, but... somehow, he'd been imagining that Angel would show up, do his damn duty, then bugger the Hell off back to LA, where he belonged. He certainly didn't expect him to stay here and put down effin' *roots* again.

And for the unlife of him, Spike couldn't understand how the Hell the Slayer could suddenly just be all 'forgive and forget', after she had spent the past two years happily living in her deep, dark world of 'I hate Angel, he done me wrong' denial. She'd stunk like repressed anger for so damn long, he'd forgotten she could smell like anything else. Now all the bastard had to do was show up all permanently souled, shag the bint once, and that was that?

Damn it, he had been sure that when the bloody Scooby Gang finally let up on their 'Spike is Gross For Stalking Buffy, So Let's Shun Him' routine, that he was gonna get a bonafide poke at the Slayer's fine little rear. A stupid thing to think, maybe, but what the Hell had he done in the last century or so that wasn't fully and completely idiotic?

And now, here he was, William the Damn Bloody, slogging through the sewers of SunnyHell, Dru's rotten pansy of a do-gooder Sire -- probably his least favorite being on the planet, next to the Dog Faced Boy, Riley Finn -- marching right along beside him, stinking like his own restrained fury. Might as well have had, "Don't even look at me, or I'll stake you, whelp," tattooed on his Cro-Magnon forehead.

"Stop looking at me," the nonce in question spat at him.

"But Peaches... the afterglow of lurrve is so lovely on you... I can hardly tear my eyes away," he flirted, fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly.

"Don't try me, boy. I'm not in the mood," Angel growled, and pushed ahead.

"Oooh. Gonna punch me, sweetums?" he mocked, making sure to stay just out of swinging range.

Without bothering to look at him, Angel spun, grabbing Spike by the lapel of his duster and hauling him off the floor, demon eyes blazing, "You *don't* want to fuck with me, *William*. You're still solid right now by Buffy's grace *alone*, nothing more. But I *will* disregard her wishes if you even *think* about stepping over the line."

Spike grinned down at him. "Which line would that be, Fuzzy Wuzzy?"

Angel tossed him unceremoniously against the sewer wall and started walking again. "I don't have time for your bullshit."

"And cursing, too!" the blond went on, trotting to catch up as he lit a cigarette. "City life sure hasn't done anything for your manners, Angelus."

"Shut up, Spike."

"Gonna make me?"

They arrived at the underground entrance to Willy's, and Angel stopped, human features back in place, but eyes still glowing angry gold.

"Do you want me to stake you? Is that what your little attitude is about? Can't stand going on knowing you're not only neutered, but that you gave up your *mate* for a woman who not only will never love you, but would rather eat live *snakes* than so much as *touch* you? Is that what this is?" He stepped toward the smaller man, poking him in the chest as he went on. "Because I am *not* in the business of putting muzzled killers out of their misery. As far as I'm concerned, no matter how much you're suffering, it's *far* less than you deserve."

Spike felt the rage boiling in his gut, but his outer facade didn't crack. "I'm hardly bloody well suffering, *mate*. I just like watching you *squirm* knowing *I'm* here with your bitch while *you're* off somewhere pretending to be Pristine Bloody Saint Soul Boy."

With a snarl, Angel turned away. "I'm done playing with you," he barked, and quickly climbed the ladder up into the bar's basement.

The blond vampire continued to grin up at Angel's disappearing back. "Too bad, pet, because I'm not even *close* to done playing with you."

***

"Dad, please. Just... listen to what I'm saying."

"Honey... I *have* been listening. Look, I know you mean well, and I'm sure your friends are very nice. Sophie was just upset, that's all. But really, Buffy, if you were trying to demonstrate your level of maturity, hitting my fiancée is not the best way to go about it."

Buffy closed her eyes and leaned against the bedroom door, choking back the urge to tell her father exactly what she thought of his "fiancée".

"I know. And I'm really sorry. But she said some awful things about my friends. You may not like Giles, Dad, but it doesn't give her the right to call him names like that. And he really *has* been there for us. He would help me with Dawn."

"Baby, you think you have a plan. I respect that. I do. But Dawn is a fourteen-year-old girl -- a very big handful. You need to go back to school in the fall. You can't possibly hope to give her all of the time and attention a teenager needs."

A thousand snap responses plowed into her brain -- most of them beginning with something like, "How the Hell would you know?" But... maturity. She tried to imagine how Angel -- the king of unflappable diplomacy -- would handle the situation.

"I understand that, Dad, believe me. I've been taking care of Dawn almost full time ever since Mom first got sick."

"I know you have, Buffy. And you've done a fine job. But now it's time to let the adults take over, don't you think? You should be out having fun, not trying to run a household and raise a child."

Fun. Buffy came close to snorting out loud at the concept. When was the last time she really had been allowed to have *fun*?

Well... besides last night. But she didn't think that was the kind of fun her father was thinking of.

"You can't take her away, now. She needs to be here, at home. With me... her friends... school..."

"She's young, honey. She'll make new friends. Kennedy is a great school. She'll adjust, I promise. You did."

((Yeah. I did. I got to come live out my adolescence on a Hellmouth. And how do you think she'll adjust to being split wide open and used to open the gates of HELL?))

"Don't you think she's been through enough changes? I mean... Mom just *died*. Dawn needs to be here with me. Where things are familiar. We've got Giles and the others to help."

"Buffy," Hank interrupted, "I'm not trying to be the bad guy, here. Dawn needs a family. A stable environment. Otherwise, she'll..."

He trailed off, but Buffy still felt the unspoken part of his sentence. "Turn out like me?"

Her father sighed. "That wasn't what I was going to say. Try to see my point of view in all this, can't you? It's a second chance for me, too. To do a better job as a father to Dawn than I was able to do for you."

Buffy sighed and sagged down onto her bed. "Please, Dad. At least... wait for a little while. Stay and see how things really are around here. All the people who care about us."

Hank was silent for a moment, as if considering it. Then, Buffy heard a higher pitched voice chattering in the distant background.

"Hold on, honey." The phone was muffled for a few minutes as Buffy waited, and she could hear the hushed tones of Sophie and her dad talking.

Finally, he came back. "I'm sorry, Buffy. Sophie needs to be back at work on Monday. She can't take any more time off. So... be a good girl and have Dawn ready to go tomorrow, okay?"

Cold fingers of dread and defeat began to claw at her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Panic followed close on their heels.

"I can't let you take her," she declared, "I won't. Please, Dad."

His voice finally lost its patient tone. "No, Buffy. And we're not discussing this any further. Have Dawn read by noon tomorrow, all right?"

"No, not all right!" Buffy cried, "You think you can just walk back into our lives whenever you want and tear it apart like this? I won't let you! Dawn *has* to stay with me!"

"Dawn *has* to go where *I* say she goes! Don't be like this, Buffy. Sophie and I have a custody order. You don't want me to have to call the sheriff to enforce it, do you? "

At that, Buffy snapped. She practically heard the sound in her head. "You're going to have me ARRESTED? OH! THAT'S GREAT, DAD! Real nice! Way to honor Mom's memory! *She *wanted Dawn to stay *here*, because she *knew* that you would just dump her on some babysitter and go out and paint the world red like you always did with ME! Dawn barely even knows you, and she doesn't know Sophie at all! Why are you doing this to us?"

"Enough, Buffy Anne! Noon tomorrow, and that's FINAL!" Hank barked, and hung up.

With a frustrated roar, Buffy threw the cordless across the room, jumping as it shattered against the far wall.

Damn it! Why wouldn't he listen to her? Why was he being so stubborn about this? Why the Hell couldn't he see that Dawn needed to stay here, where she was safe?

Of course, her dad didn't exactly know that a demon goddess was threatening her life, either. Part of Buffy wished that she had told her Dad about the Slaying at the same time her Mom found out. But then... what were the chances he would have believed her if she had?

She had to find a way to keep Dawn out of her father's hands... at least until after the convergence. Then they could spend the rest of their lives duking it out in court, for all she cared.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Yeah?" she snapped.

Dawn stepped in. "So... what'd he say?"

Buffy patted the bed beside her, and her sister sat down. She took a lock of the girl's hair and played with it as she spoke gently, with a calm that she didn't feel.

"I tried to talk to him, Dawnie. He won't change his mind."

Dawn's blue eyes went wide and filled with frightened tears. "I can't go with him, Buffy! I can't! I WON'T!"

Buffy pulled her into her arms and rocked her. "I know, baby. I'm not letting you go anywhere. I don't care what Dad says."

((Let him come and try to arrest me. Not like I haven't dealt with Sunnydale cops before.))

***

Willy's was dead. Not 'full of the walking dead' dead, but simply empty. Willy himself sat on one of the vacant bar stools, his head perched in his hand on the bar, fast asleep.

"OI! BARKEEP!" Spike bellowed, making both Willy and Angel jump half out of their skin.

"Wh-what?!" the weasely little man yelped as he leapt to his feet. "Spike? Angel! Hey, man! Haven't seen you in a dog's age! Heard you moved the crusade on up to the City of Angels."

The elder vampire was transported back in time by the cool, dark atmosphere of the bar... nights spent nursing tumblers of Irish whiskey that he never drank, as he debated with himself for hours over what to do about Buffy. The day Kendra almost cooked him in the stock room... countless occasions bashing Willy's head into the bar to make him talk...

Willy must have been thinking about those last times, too, as he was slowly inching away from the vampires.

But before he could go for the crossbow both of them knew he kept behind the bar, Spike pounced, grabbing the human by the scruff of his neck and slamming his head down on the varnished wood surface.

((Just like old times,)) Angel thought.

"Aw, come on, Spike! You haven't even *asked* me anything yet!" the barkeep whined.

"Spike, let him up," Angel commanded softly.

The blond scowled, but obeyed.

"Thank you!" the small man said, rubbing his neck with a dark look to Spike, "And Hey! Since when do you two work together? Last time I saw you in the same place, one of you was half-dead, and the other was... well, half-dead. And before that, you," he pointed to Spike, "Were buying your old GrandSire's *hide* for a hundred bucks!"

Spike snarled, and Angel shot him a look. "You bought me for a *hundred dollars*?"

The younger vampire smirked and gave him a shrug. "What can I say? You've always been cheap and easy."

Angel shook his head and sighed... ((And Buffy insists he's changed.))

"Have a seat, Willy," he suggested, stepping toward the barkeep, who immediately plopped down onto his barstool again, looking up at the two vampires with barely veiled fear. Angel would never admit it aloud, but part of him still got a charge out of being intimidating. And besides... it made avoiding violence a lot easier. "Why don't you tell me about the big demon pow-wow tomorrow night?"

"But I don't..." Willy began to object, only to be cut off by a cuff to the ear from Spike. Not enough to hurt him, but definitely enough to make him start shaking for real.

"Spill it, blood bag," the younger demon snarled.

Willy's gaze ticked nervously from one dangerous animal to the other. "Okay, okay. All I know is there's some big rainmakers coming out from Angel's neck of the woods, and they're hooking up with some sorcerer goddess or something here in the Dale, tearing the place apart looking for some key."

Angel let his eyes burn gold as bent to look directly in his face. "And..." He kept his voice low, but with just enough promise of pain... a reminder that Spike might be chipped, but he certainly wasn't. Just enough to get Willy talking.

"And... what? They're clearing out the tunnels under the old high school. Word has it they're gonna open some kind of door, using the Hellmouth as uh... a deflector dish thingy. And that's scaring off all the more earthy sorta monsters, you know? Most of my customers like this dimension just the way it is -- don't relish the though of getting sucked into some other one where they're at the bottom of the food chain, know what I mean?"

Angel nodded. Spike hauled himself over the bar and snatched a bottle of scotch from the shelf.

"You don't mind, do ya, Willy old pal?" he snarled in demon face.

The little man shook harder. "H-help yourself. Any friend of the Slayer's a friend of mine."

Spike shot his GrandSire a smart-ass grin, which Angel chose to ignore.

"What about this key -- what's the plan for getting it?" he went on, continuing to circle Willy's chair with his hands clasped behind his back.

He shrugged. "Don't know. Just that the LA contingent is bringing in their own muscle -- demons, wizards, warriors, the whole nine. Whoever this goddess babe is, she's got something they want *bad*."

The ensouled vampire frowned. It seemed increasingly clear that Lindsey's stake in Glory had to do with taking one more shot at him than anything having to do with Glory's portal. This was the last thing he needed to worry about right now...

"Fine. The High School, then. That's a start." He nodded toward Spike, who automatically fell into step with him as they moved back toward the exit. "Thanks, Willy. You've been a big help."

"Don't mention it!" he called after them, "Hey, tell the Slayer I said hi... and sorry about her boyfriend, there. I feel really bad about that, but... what was I supposed to do? He was 21, and... big. Very big." Angel stopped in the back doorway and glanced over his shoulder.

"What about Finn?"

Willy looked distinctly as though he'd just swallowed something very unpleasant -- like his foot. "Nothing. Just... You know... the leaving thing. Felt bad about that. That's all."

The dark-haired vampire scowled at him, and left.

Once he and Spike were back in the tunnels headed toward Buffy's house, Angel cast a glance at the younger vampire traipsing along beside him, grinning happily as he drank his stolen hooch.

"What was he talking about?"

Spike glanced up as though he'd forgotten Angel was there.

"Whatsat, Peaches?"

"Riley. Willy apologized for Riley leaving. Why?"

"Beats me." The younger vampire shrugged. "Maybe it was the fact that Willy turned old Sergeant Stick-Up-His-Arse on to a vamp whorehouse, where he proceeded to spend most of his free time and dosh, last few months before he shipped out."

Angel stopped dead. "I beg your pardon?"

Spike halted also, rolling his eyes at his GrandSire. "Don't beg, Siegfried. S'not becoming unless I'm beatin' it outta you."

And for the third time since they were reunited, Spike found himself dangling above the floor by his jacket collar.

"What the HELL are you talking about?" Angel snarled.

Spike couldn't hold back his smirk. "You mean little Buff didn't tell you?" He laughed. "Well! Just so happens that Captain Courageous, there, was going out every night paying fangy strumpets to suck him off. S'why him and the Slayer broke up. Though, if you ask me, it was just a matter of time, anyway. Boy was BORING..."

Angel dropped him and began angrily pacing the tunnel, his handsome features twisted in disgust, "Are you telling me... Buffy's *lover* was *paying* vampires to *feed* from him?!"

"That, my most reverend GrandSire, is *exactly* what I'm saying," Spike concurred, straightening out his jacket collar. "Saw it with my own eyes. Slayer did too. Nasty business, that. She burned the place to the ground the next day. You shoulda seen her... she was PISSED."

Angel was too busy pacing to pay any attention to Spike's commentary. "Why? What the Hell would... Why did..." he spluttered.

"Aw, come on, Angelus. You may be thick, but you ain't that naive! You know that kinda shit goes on all the time!"

The dark-haired vampire stopped his pacing and looked at him, now in game face. "Of course I know it goes on, idiot! But WHY would FINN be involved?"

Riley had seemed so stable... so safe. Nice, much to his consternation. What could possibly have driven a wholesome kid like that into such... depravity? Especially when he had a beautiful, exciting, fascinating woman like Buffy at his side...

((Oh, God. Poor Buffy.))

"I'll give you three hints, Froofy Boy: Y-O-U. Little Mr. Marty Sunshine couldn't handle the fact that darling Buffykins had a dark past and a bit of a predilection for the fangier members of the male sex. Found out he was playing second fiddle to a demon for the Heart of the Slayer, and just lost it, I guess." Spike shrugged and moved on. "Farm upbringin' don't exactly prepare you for that sorta shit."

Angel was nothing less than flabbergasted. And *furious* -- with himself, with Finn... was this the normalcy he had left Buffy to find? Someone who was so deranged that he spat in the face of everything she stood for just to get some twisted revenge on her ex-boyfriend?

He snatched the bottle out of his descendant's hand and took a long swig.

"Thirsty, pet?"

"No. Trying to drown the desperate urge to hunt that little fuck down and rip him apart with my bare hands."

Spike laughed heartily and reclaimed the bottle. "Get in line, mate."

They sloshed along in silence for the rest of the way, passing the bottle of scotch back and forth until they came to the bend that marked the beginning of the woods near Buffy's house.

"Can't believe the Slayer didn't tell you 'bout that Soldier Boy bit," Spike mumbled offhandedly as he climbed the manhole ladder.

Angel frowned as he took the last swig from the bottle and set it down on the cement.

"Neither can I," he mumbled, and followed.

************************************************************************


	23. Chapter 23

_Can it be right to give what I can give ?_   
_To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears_   
_As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years_   
_Re-sighing on my lips renunciative_   
_Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live_   
_For all thy adjurations ? O my fears,_   
_That this can scarce be right ! We are not peers,_   
_So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,_   
_That givers of such gifts as mine are, must_   
_Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas !_   
_I will not soil thy purple with my dust,_   
_Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,_   
_Nor give thee any love--which were unjust._   
_Beloved, I only love thee ! let it pass._

~ "Sonnets From the Portuguese IX" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

**************************************************************************** 

She was so tired. Not 'I want to lie down and take a nap' tired, but bone weary, all the way down to her soul.

Buffy sat at the kitchen island, absently not eating a sandwich left over from the funeral, and not drinking a big glass of orange juice she knew she needed. The part of her brain that ran Slayerthings was jumping up and down, pitching a fit over her refusal to take care of herself. Kept reminding her that she was standing at the edge of a battle -- maybe THE battle -- and she was wasting time slouching, moping and staring out into space when she should be resting or eating, or at the very least, training.

But the numbness that had given her boundless energy for so long was gone, and now it seemed like she was all about the pain. Missing Mom Pain and Being Pissed at Dad Pain... Maybe Losing Dawn Pain and End of the World Pain. Even some agonies that she hadn't thought of before. For instance, what if they survived and Angel left her again -- went back to his fulfilling life half a world away, with his friends and his mission and his sexy ex-cop friend? Not that she would begrudge him any of those things... he deserved to be happy, if anyone did. But thinking about that possibility got her thinking about older, never-fully-healed wounds-- the summer after he left the first time... how she fell apart and just wandered around, hurt, lost and bewildered, as if he'd taken her brain as well as her heart when he turned and walked away. And thinking about leaving got her to thinking about Riley and everything they had gone through... how and why *he* left. Which led her back into the quagmire of why *all* the men she loved (except Xander and Giles) left her, including her father, and why was she never enough to make love stay, and why...

Strong arms came around her waist... cool lips pressed gently to the nape of her neck, and in a heartbeat, the pain was suddenly gone. Like a cloudy sky had cleared, and she could see again.

Angel magic.

Buffy turned around in her seat to find him smiling down at her. That sweet smile, those sparkling eyes...

She started thinking that sometimes, even if they leave, they come back. And that almost made it all bearable.

She pulled him down for a long, slow kiss.

His smile was twice as wide when he pulled away. "I missed you too," he murmured, reaching up to brush her cheek.

Her thoughts of a moment before returned, poking at her happiness. She just had to know...

"This might not be the best time to ask, but... What's going to happen when this is over? I mean... between us?" she ventured softly. The whole question just spilled out before her common sense got a chance to tell her to stick a sock in it -- wait to see if they even *survived*, first.

Angel started as if she'd struck him, and blinked a few times. "What?"

"I need to know, Angel. If we all survive... which, of course, we will... what are you and I going to do?"

His brow furrowed, and Buffy really regretted saying it. Well... not saying it so much as maybe her timing in saying it.

"You're right. It isn't a good time to discuss this," he grumbled, and headed toward the refrigerator.

Angel was starving and completely wiped out. Pre-occupied with the details of saving the world, furious at Spike, angry at Finn, angry at Buffy, angry at himself, and thus in no mood to address questions of where he and his lover stood, or what would happen to their relationship should they survive the next couple of days.

He snatched two bags of blood from the shelf, and not bothering with a cup, snipped a tiny hole in each, popped them in the microwave and punched in the numbers, ignoring Buffy's wounded look.

He just... couldn't coddle her, right now. As petty and selfish as it may be, Angel wanted to focus on their more immediately pressing problems -- like the possibility of the world getting sucked into Hell, and/or Wolfram and Hart coming after his soul... AGAIN. Plus the fact that she had chosen to hide such an important event as Finn's infidelity from him...

Besides, he didn't have an answer for her.

The microwave beeped, and he snatched one bag out, vamping and sinking his fangs into the plastic without a thought to Buffy's presence. And upon realizing he'd done that, he felt a pang of the old shame over what he was, which only served to make him angrier -- he had gotten used to *not* having to feel ashamed of his needs -- a gift of comfortable acceptance granted him by his LA family. So he did it again with the second bag, making sure to slurp rudely this time, before tossing the drained bags in the sink... not the garbage. Then he turned to face her again, not bothering to switch visages. She loved the demon, right? So why play games?

Angel couldn't begin to articulate why he was suddenly so angry with her. Her question was a legitimate one, no matter how badly timed.

Buffy regarded him evenly from her perch on the barstool.

"You're going to leave again, aren't you," she stated simply, not bothering to phrase it into a question. She could see it in his demon's eyes... in his posture... his angry frown.

And she wondered briefly why her heart wasn't shattering. Maybe she was going numb again -- which would be a good thing, in this case, because numb meant she could fight, and not be overwhelmed by all her fears, sorrows and regrets.

"If you mean am I going back to Los Angeles... yes," he replied curtly as his human visage reappeared.

Funny how that face looked even angrier than the demon's.

Her next words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. "You promised you'd never leave me again."

She knew she was being selfish... knew she was reverting back to her old, Buffy Is The Center of the Universe ways... but she couldn't help it. Too many things were unpredictable, right now. She wanted just *one*--the most fundamental one--to remain stable.

Angel softened a little, but made no move to approach her. "I'm not leaving *you*, Buffy. You and I will still... do whatever we're doing. But I have a life there. A home. A family. A job that I love, and I want to get back to."

She frowned. *There* was the heartbreak. She refused to cry, so she bit her lip, and nodded. "Good. You're right. You should go back."

Unable to bear the pain in her eyes, and unwilling to explain himself, he turned away and made a cup of coffee, just for something to do.

"What brought this on?" he muttered to the cup.

Buffy sighed. "I was just thinking... My Dad's um... coming for Dawn tomorrow. He won't take no for an answer."

Angel leaned heavily against the counter, watching the last rays of the day disappear over the horizon through the edges of the blinds over the kitchen window.

"So I just... got to thinking about being alone again. Being... left, I guess," she added.

He tilted his head back, closing his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me about Riley?"

"What?"

Having found the source of his seemingly irrational anger, Angel finally forced himself to turn around and look at her, but crossed his arms over his chest to fight the urge to go over there... hold her... kiss that look of pure woe from her face.

No. If they were going to make this relationship work, they were going to have to do this right. Communicate like adults. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't make all of her pain go away. So he needed to learn to step back and let her come to him if she needed him... and also needed to learn to believe that she would.

"Why didn't you tell me why you and Riley really broke up? I thought we promised... no more secrets."

Buffy's face reddened, and she looked away. "I didn't... think it was important."

He frowned. "Well, I didn't think it was important to tell you about Darla... or about my soul, either. But you asked me to tell you, and I did."

She said nothing, choosing that moment to finally drink her juice, instead.

"Buffy?" he urged firmly.

Dragging her eyes up to his once more, she asked, "How did you know?"

"Does it matter? I do. Don't you think that's the sort of thing you should be able to talk to me about?"

She felt a flash of anger rush through her. "Oh, and I'm sure I know *all* of your secrets! Why is it so important to you? It's over! Done! Why should you care?"

Something snapped almost audibly in his head, and for the second time in less than a month, he was struck with a sensation of perfect clarity. He was hurt at being left out, and feeling guilty because she was right -- he had no claim to self-righteousness, because she *didn't* know everything. Anger at himself for leaving her... anger at her for putting herself in a situation where she could be so disrespected... the farrago of feelings propelled him forward, until he was leaning over the island toward her.

"Because I care about you. I care about how you feel. I want to know about the things that hurt you... or make you happy. I want you to trust me the way I trust you!"

He ignored the little voice in his head that reminded him he hadn't been fully honest with her, either. The Day That Wasn't... Shanshu...

Buffy looked away once more, unable to take the hurt in his eyes. "I can't. I mean... I *do* trust you, just... I didn't understand what happened, myself. Besides... you came back, and it didn't matter anymore. I wanted to forget."

Angel sat on a barstool across from her with a deep sigh. "But you haven't, have you?"

((Not like you forgot That Day.))

He pushed that thought away, too. Of all the useless, childish wanderings his brain could take...

She shook her head. He reached over and took both of her hands. "Buffy... I'm sorry. I don't mean to... I'm not trying to force you to share anything that you don't want to share. But weren't you the one who said all of our burdens were easier to carry if we do?"

She raised her teary eyes and gave him a pout. "I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Use my words against me. It's really annoying."

He couldn't help a little smile as he pulled her hands to his lips. Maybe it was time that they both came clean... about everything. "Don't shut me out, Buffy. Not now. Please."

Buffy shrugged. "I don't really know what to say. I mean... how do you explain that your lover was so dissatisfied with you that he went out and started hiring demons to suck his blood so he could feel needed? It's not exactly... the sort of thing you jot down on a postcard home, you know?"

Angel flinched at the words, his rage toward Riley kicking up another level, which made what little was left of his anger toward Buffy evaporate. How *did* you explain that to someone? Especially when that someone was your new/old lover...

And what was he supposed to say in return?

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

A small smile quirked Buffy's mouth. "That's supportive, Communication Boy."

"Hey," he chuckled softly, "I'm new at this too, remember?"

Buffy nodded and squeezed his hands. "I know. Well... I guess ... I never gave Riley what he thought he needed. I don't know. I know he loved me, and I didn't. Love him, I mean. Not the way he deserved to be loved. I didn't need him, either, and I think that was worse. I wasn't totally up front about..." Her gaze ticked back to his. "You. Or the way I felt about you, or anything that happened between us. So... he was pretty shocked and upset when he found out."

Angel chuckled softly. "I bet."

"You have no idea," she laughed bitterly. "But... to his credit, I guess... he did try. He tried really hard to make me forget, and to just... accept me. Then the whole Dracula thing happened..."

He quirked an eyebrow. "What Dracula thing?"

Buffy's eyes widened and she blushed, unconsciously touching her neck.

Angel stared at the gesture. It was as though she had just turned on a neon sign over her head that said, 'Another Vampire Bit Me'. The demon inside him reacted immediately and violently, and he leapt to his feet, roaring, "Dracula DRANK you?!"

Not looking up, Buffy nodded.

Christ! Angel was right on the edge of really losing it now, and breaking something, or putting a fist through the wall. He opted for standing statue-still, clutching his hands into painfully tight fists at his side, concentrating on his breathing until the urge to murder passed, and he forced himself to sit again.

"Sorry," he murmured contritely.

Buffy glanced up from under her lashes. "Demon thing?"

"Hrmph," he grunted, "But... so... Dracula... b-bit... you."

Boy, it was hard to speak like a sane human being when you had a deranged demon screaming in jealous rage inside your head.

"Yeah. He um... he had me under his thrall or something. After that, I think Riley just sort of freaked. He got sick and lost all his super strength..."

"Wait," Angel held up a hand. "Riley had *super strength*?"

Buffy nodded. "The commandos were all surgically altered... given drugs and stuff."

Angel snorted, muttering under his un-breath. "Could've fooled me."

She grinned. "Do you want me to tell you this story, or not?"

"Yes. Please, go on. I'll be quiet."

"Okay. So... the no-strength thing, which I guess sort of made me push him away more. I didn't want him to get hurt, you know? And... then Mom got sick, and he got upset that I didn't... lean on him. I guess it started happening after that."

((I don't know, I - I wanted to know what you felt. I wanted to know why Dracula and Angel have so much power over you... They needed me... When they bit me ... it was beyond passion. They wanted to devour me, all of me. ))

"The vampires?" Angel asked softly.

"Yeah. He said... he wanted to understand the hold you had over me. And I tried to tell him -- it wasn't... that. Not with you. But how was I supposed to tell him the real reason? He was my boyfriend. I was supposed to be over you. I didn't know how to tell him that it wasn't the fact that you bit me that tied us together. That I belonged to you way before that, and... it wasn't changing or fading no matter how much time went by. But all Riley could see was the thrall thing, and then, I guess... after that, he got addicted to it."

"And Spike was kind enough to point out the problem to you. How helpful of him," Angel growled.

Buffy tugged at his hand. "No. It was good." At Angel's skeptical look, she explained, "I know he didn't do it to *be* good -- he did it to get rid of Riley. But if he hadn't..." she shook her head. "Who knows what might have happened? He could've been killed... or worse. So... in the long run, finding out was the best thing for both of us. Even though it... hurt."

He stared at her for a beat, then whispered, "I know how that feels."

Buffy's smile was warm as she looked up again. "A lot of things seem to happen that way."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Buffy. For all of it."

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault. Or Riley's. And before you say anything, I know it wasn't mine, either. I thought it was, for a long time. That... maybe if I'd been there for him more, or... at least tried to be as close to him emotionally as I was physically... even if I didn't... love him... maybe that would have been enough. Or... that I drove him to it because I didn't give him enough of myself. But the fact is, he was a grown man... a smart man. He made his choices. And I gave him everything I had to give. So..." she shrugged. "That's the end of my tale of woe."

Angel pulled her hands up for another kiss. "Thank you for telling me."

Her smile faded a little. "Not that it didn't feel good to talk about it, but... you did sort of bully me into it."

Angel looked away. "I know. I didn't mean to make my going back to LA sound like emotional blackmail. I just..." He let his gaze return, his eyes searching deep inside hers. "I want to share *everything* with you, Buffy. And I want you to feel safe doing the same. You know I'll never judge you."

"I do. I haven't... had anyone to really lean on for a long time, you know? Give me a while to adjust, and you won't be able to shut me up," she promised.

Angel got up and circled the island, pulling Buffy off the stool to gather her in his embrace once more. She burrowed into his chest, feeling... purged somehow, and knowing that he was right... about her being right. Sharing like this really was the best thing in the world.

She pulled away again to look into those eyes... eyes the color of scorched earth... windows into the most beautiful soul she'd ever known, and that she hoped would be the last thing she would see before she died.

"I'll miss you, when you go back," she told him softly, already feeling the ache of his absence in her chest. She had no idea how she would go on without him beside her every moment of every day, but... still. Just to know that this time wouldn't be forever was enough to keep her eyes dry.

His smile was sad but warm, and he reached up to cup her cheek, stroking her soft skin with the pad of his thumb. "I'll miss you, too. But it's not goodbye this time. We won't be apart forever. You can come to LA anytime you want. Bring Dawn... bring everyone. There's plenty of room at my place."

Buffy frowned a little, remembering his elegant little cave of an apartment. It was nice, and definitely spacious enough for one restless vampire... but she could hardly imagine bringing the whole gang there...

"That's... really sweet, Angel, but do you think there's enough room for all of us in your apartment? Togetherness is good and everything, but..."

He laughed. She felt so familiar... so intimate to him now, he'd completely forgotten how much she still didn't know. A little pang of guilt and melancholy washed through him at the memory of the Day they spent at his old place. "It sort of blew up. I bought a hotel."

((Tell her. Tell her now.))

Buffy's eyes went wide at the first piece of information, and wider still at the second. "Blew up? Hotel?" she parroted.

He took a deep breath, but before he could launch into his confession, the house suddenly sounded like it had filled to the bursting point with people.

"Somebody call for an army?" Gunn shouted, advancing on his friend and grabbing him in a back-slamming embrace before cocking a wry eyebrow at the ((skinny blonde)) beside him. "And you're the big ex." He grinned back at his former boss. "Don't look so ex to me, yo."

Angel grinned. "Charles Gunn, Buffy Summers. Buffy, meet my very good friend Gunn."

Buffy beamed up at the handsome stranger and offered a hand, which Gunn's engulfed completely as they shook. "Nice to meet you, Charles."

"Nice grip, Buffy," he replied.

"Angel? You in here?"

Buffy went tense, and her smile evaporated as she watched a ((really stunning)) tall blonde woman with, by far, the biggest, bluest eyes she'd ever seen come ambling into the kitchen ((all long legs and big boobs)). She grabbed Angel in a crushing hug, which he returned... with the addition of a peck to her ((sculpted)) cheek, before they both turned to Buffy ((without letting go of each other.)).

"You have *got* to be Buffy," the newcomer observed cheerfully. "I'm Kate."

Buffy scowled at her proffered hand before looking into her face once more. "Why do I *have* to be Buffy?" she snapped ((waaaaay up)) at her.

Kate took the snub in stride, letting her hand drop and Angel go in the same motion.

"Oooh, man," Gunn mumbled, "I think that's my cue to be... somewhere else. Nice to be fightin' with you, Buffy."

She nodded in acknowledgement of Gunn's departure, but didn't take her eyes off Kate.

"So. You guys, uh... got here okay. I mean... you found it. The directions were good," Angel babbled, desperately trying to cut the tension in the room. Any moment, he expected Buffy to start growling at Kate. And his friend's 'Oh, look, she's jealous. Isn't that cute?' expression wasn't helping.

"Excuse me, but I have an Armageddon prevention to plan," his love snarled, and stomped out of the room.

So much for his confession. Angel watched her go with a woeful sigh.

"So that's the Great Love, huh?" Kate commented, grinning snidely at him, "Always the tiny blondes with you, isn't it?"

"Mm."

"Not possessive or anything, is she?"

Angel frowned at her. "She's not..." He sighed again. "Yeah, she is a little."

Kate gave him a friendly nudge. "Guess that probably makes two of you, huh, 18th century Irish Catholic vampire Romeo guy?"

He shot her a good-natured scowl. "You, my friend, are a troublemaker."

Her hand flew to her chest. "Moi? Never!"

The vampire shook his head. "Come on... we should catch up before she starts breaking things."

"Hey. As long as it doesn't involve any of my body parts, I'm a firm believer in cathartic violence," she laughed as she followed him out of the kitchen.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER NOTE: 22 stone, for us ignorant Yanks, is over 300 lbs. My thanks to Shirlz, Mitch, and Penny from Angel Elders for help with the conversion! The name I use for the host is from a spoiler for Episode 19 - thanks to Herc at AICN for the tip.

Madness. Absolute chaos. Wesley felt as thought he'd been plunked down in the midst of some bizarre Renaissance festival or something, populated by everyone he'd ever met. And a great many that he hadn't -- in fact, probably would never have thought to care to meet, actually.

Gunn's group -- some 20 or 30 young people, full of righteous enthusiasm and boisterous excitement for the fight, he was used to. He'd never actually seen them all in one *place* before, but... he had worked with them in smaller groups, and frankly, found their energy uplifting and invigorating.

The mercenaries, on the other hand...

The carnival atmosphere was... warped, slightly, by the presence of some two-dozen demons, demi-demons, and creatures that were ostensibly human, although he couldn't in any way be certain simply by their appearance. He identified several species: Rocktaks, possibly the most violent of neutral demons in this dimension; Fyorals, who were always more than willing to go where the skull-crushing was; several Anaptats -- winged creatures, which he thought might come in handy; a Norn or two, and four, horned Siriks.

But among the numbers Gunn and Kate had hired through the recommendation of Merl and The Host, were at least ten creatures he'd never seen before, and none of which looked very much like beings he would be eager to work with. The largest and fiercest of these being a demon who resembled the Beast from the old fairy tale, standing well over seven feet tall and weighing in, he would guess, at well over 22 stone, all of it muscle. It was that particular creature that approached he and Giles, who had set up a sort of war room in the dining area.

As the ex-Watcher looked up -- far, far up -- at the enormous beast, it was all he could do not to squeak in terror. Which, naturally, shamed him -- wasn't he long past such childish fear? The things that he had survived in the past year certainly should have prepared him for pretty much anything, shouldn't they?

"I am Carl," the lion beast proclaimed with a fierce smack to his barrel chest. "Of the Fosath Clan. Are you this..." the creature glanced around, and Wesley would swear, grimaced, "Army's general?"

The fact that the beast spoke in a smooth, cultured voice took Wesley even further by surprise. "Oh. No, er... Rather..." he stuttered, climbing to his feet, "I'm Wesley Windham-Pryce. This is my associate, Mr. Giles." He gestured awkwardly to the man standing next to him.

The cat eyes fell on Giles, who, much to Wesley's chagrin, looked completely unruffled, and offered a hand to Carl, whose enormous paw engulfed it with a friendly shake.

"A Watcher," Carl observed, "Then there is a Slayer among us?"

"Yes," Giles confirmed. "I believe she's in the yard with her... er..."

"War Chief," Wesley finished for him. He sort of liked the sound of the term, and thought this rather... medieval looking creature might appreciate Angel's role more that way.

"Ah, excellent. Things will progress more smoothly with the Slayer leading our..." he paused once more, "Numbers. It is a pleasure for my clan to be of service in defeating the Abomination."

"Your clan..." Giles ventured, taking a look at the pack of motley creatures gathered close at Carl's rather hairy heels -- none of which resembled one another even vaguel y. Several were lizard-like creatures with pink skin, others were almost human looking, and the last looked distinctly like a hyena on two legs.

"Indeed. We are descendants of some of the outcasts from the Realm of ((some incomprehensible word that sounded to Wesley like 'Burning Tires on A Dinner Plate, Tick Tick')). For generations, our forefathers have sought to redeem the name of our individual tribes by battling to prevent Its return to our world. When Krevlornswath informed us of this rare opportunity, we insisted upon taking part in your crusade."

"Krevlornswath?" Giles asked, obviously confused.

"I believe he means our friend, The Host," Wesley explained, rather shocked at the exposition himself. "I... wasn't aware that he had a name," he muttered under his breath.

"Yes," Carl confirmed, "An unfortunate dresser, but a wise man. Have you destroyed the Key, then?"

"What? Certainly not!" Giles yelped.

Wesley stepped between them. "Er... Carl, is it? The Key has been rather... transformed. We're unable to destroy it."

Carl made what Wesley assumed was meant to be a scowl. "Whyever not? The magick to do so is simple."

"Ah, yes, I'm sure," Wesley said, taking Carl by the arm and leading him toward the living room, where Dawn sat on the sofa with Cordelia, sharpening stakes. "You see... the Guardians transformed the Key into a human girl. Indeed, the sister of the Slayer."

The lion head regarded Dawn seriously for a moment, then nodded. "I understand. Then we will pledge our fealty to the Key as we would the Slayer herself!"

Before either Englishman could say anything further, Carl and his companions dropped to their knees in front of the couch, eliciting a startled yelp from Cordelia, and confused frown from Dawn.

"I am Carl, of the Fosath Clan! My brothers and I pledge our lives in the service of yours, Arpat Kitsaluk!" he announced solemnly, bowing his head.

Dawn glanced around at the demons... then the various humans in the room, before turning back to Carl.

"Uh... cool. Thanks," she replied, patting him on the head.

Carl smiled, broadly revealing a mouth full of shining fangs. "Excellent! Now --where is the Slayer and her War Chief? We would discuss our strategy for defeating the Abomination once and for all!"

Cordy and Dawn -- and every other human in the room -- gaped at the retreating group.

Dawn slowly turned to look at her friend. "Did Vincent just call me Air Pie Gots Too Look?"

Cordelia shook her head. "No. I think he said his name was Carl."

***

Buffy managed to completely tune out the chaos around her. At this point, she couldn't tell what was driving her on anymore -- Slayer instinct, frustration, anger, terror... jealousy. It had all just mixed together into a fire in her blood that defied any attempt to define it. Too many things to think about. Too many questions. Too much confusion.

Best solution? Concentrate on movement. Carving stakes. Sharpening knives. Oiling crossbow trigger mechanisms. Tipping arrows. Think about kicking, punching and rending in a myriad of colorful, fun, and thoroughly distracting ways. Soldier thoughts. No Kate with her big blue eyes and legs up to here with her arms around Angel thoughts... No Dawn getting taken away thoughts. And certainly no We're All Going to Die Tomorrow thoughts.

"Hey, Buffy. Angel asked me to come see how those arrows are coming."

((NO! No tall, beautiful Kate with big boobs thoughts!))

"Fine," Buffy snapped without looking up.

((I have a really huge knife that cuts *wood*. You might want to go away, pretty ex-cop lady.))

"Fine like, 'I have lots of arrows done', or fine like, 'Somebody please help me, I poured molten silver all over myself'?"

Buffy forced her eyes up. "Fine, like, *fine*," she snarled, and turned back to tailing the arrow she had just tipped.

Kate sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Look, I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot somehow."

The Slayer was not happy about having her denial thwarted -- especially not by *Kate*.

"Interesting choice of words... 'got off'," she muttered.

The elder blonde crouched down and staid her hand, urging the younger woman to look at her.

"I don't want you to think whatever you're thinking, Buffy," she said softly.

"And what would that be, exactly?"

"About Angel and I."

Buffy's face collapsed so hard into a scowl, she could barely see. "I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered, yanking her hand away from the other woman's grip.

Kate sat down on the step. "I'm not going to lie to you. I care about Angel. A lot. I owe him my life, and I'd lay mine down for him in a second. But it's not..." She gave another heavy sigh, followed by a wry chuckle. "Look, I'm not very good at all this girly sharing stuff, okay? So... do you think you could cut me a little slack, here?"

The Slayer frowned harder for another moment, then finally relented and sat down beside Angel's friend. She didn't, however, bother to look up at her.

"You don't owe me any explanations. It's none of my business," she said flatly.

"True, but... how you feel is important to him. I don't want us to be enemies because you think... I don't know... that I'm trying to take your place in his heart or something. Believe me, nothing could be further from the truth. And... I'm pretty sure it would be impossible to do, anyway."

Buffy couldn't help feeling a little bit bad. After all... none of the things that had split her and Angel up were Kate's fault. If she should feel anything at all toward her, it should be grateful that her lover had such good, devoted friends taking care of him when she couldn't.

"I'm sorry," she finally offered. "I don't even know you, or anything about your relationship with Angel. I'm just... jealous, I guess. You're there with him... every day. And I'm not. And you guys seem so... close." She gulped. "We used to be close like that."

She looked up just in time to see Kate smile. "Yeah, I know. He's mentioned that a few... hundred times."

Buffy felt a pang in her heart. "He has?"

"Are you kidding? God... he talks about you like you hung the damn moon. I don't think you need to worry. You'll be just as close as you always were before you know it. And with his whole new "open attitude" thing... probably closer than you ever wanted to be."

The Slayer searched Kate's clear blue eyes and could see that she was telling the truth.

"He... talks about me?"

Kate nodded. "Not always explicitly... But you can always tell when he's referring to you, or seeing something that reminds him of you, or when he's remembering something you said or did. He gets this... look. It's hard to explain. Cordelia calls it 'Buffy Face'... but there are actually two of them. A broody one... you know, with the whole furrowed brow, scowling thing? And then there's a beamy one, too. It lights him up from the inside." She shook her head. "Kinda makes me jealous. I wish someone would look that way when they're thinking about me two years after we broke up."

Buffy felt her eyes filling with tears. "I think about him too. All the time. Whether I want to or not."

The elder woman chuckled. "He does sort of have that effect on people."

"Yeah."

They sat quietly for a few moments until Kate spoke again. "I owe him everything, Buffy. He not only saved my life... literally-- he gave me a purpose... something to stand up for when I didn't have any faith left... in anything."

Buffy looked over at her, and found the elder woman staring thoughtfully into space. "You sound just like him."

"Mm. We're a lot alike. And... a lot not."

"I see you've got vague down to an art form, too," Buffy said with a smile, "No wonder you're such good friends."

Kate returned it. "Some of our conversations are pretty dull. A lot of grunting," she chuckled, then sobered again. "He loves you, Buffy. I don't think anything could change that. Honestly? I wouldn't even want to try."

Buffy stared down at the arrow in her hand. "I'm not usually so psycho. I mean... I'm glad he has you guys. It makes me feel better to know he's not alone out there."

Kate gave her a tentative pat on the shoulder. "He's not, I promise. And as far as anything more than that goes... it's just not on the menu. For either of us."

The Slayer gave her a skeptical look. "Come on... you mean to tell me you don't find him even a *little* attractive?"

The elder woman gave a broad grin. "Are you kidding? He's beautiful! But... I don't have those kind of feelings for him. Or him for me. Really, it's sort of our mutual pathetic loner-ness that made us such good friends in the first place. And... I think maybe what you guys do is what I was meant to do, too. And this conversation is getting really long and melodramatic, isn't it?"

Buffy chuckled. "Yeah. But I know what you're saying. I'm sorry for being such a bitch."

"I'd really like us to be friends, Buffy. Anyone who is as important to Angel as you are is important to me, too. Don't apologize for being protective of him. He's very special and far more than worth it."

She could hear the echo of Angel's deep voice speaking inside, and felt her smile spread outward from her heart. "He is." She reached down and picked up a clutch of arrows from the ground beside her, handing them to Kate like a peace offering, "Know anything about tipping arrows with silver and holy water?"

Kate accepted it. "Lead is really more my speed. But I'm willing to learn, I guess."

***

Angel smiled as he caught a glimpse of Buffy and Kate chatting on the back porch. He knew it had taken a lot for Kate to make inroads with a total stranger... and probably just as much for Buffy to accept such inroads from someone who she felt was a threat to their already uncertain relationship. Both of them meant so much to him, in their individual ways, he hated to be the cause of any animosity between them.

"Mm. Lovely sight, in't it?" Spike muttered snidely from behind him. "Two blondes... one big and busty... the other tiny and..."

Angel spun and pushed by him, stomping away toward the front of the house. Spike, naturally, followed.

"Oh, come on, Peaches, you can't be *that* much of a poufter. Your cop friend is Grade A Prime. And I don't need to tell you how hot the Slayer is. If you tell me the sight of them together doesn't make you a little bit bothered..."

The elder vampire tuned his GrandChilde out and made a beeline out the front door toward Gunn's truck to check out the rest of the weapons.

"You know that little thing Buffy does with her tongue when she kisses? That flickering thing over your teeth?" He laughed. "Bloody rod-hardener, that."

Angel started reciting koans in his head as he climbed into the bed of the truck. Recited them backwards. In Korean.

Spike leaned up against the rear quarter panel and lit up a cigarette, going on with his soliloquy. "And those little hands. Jesus H on a Club cracker. Almost stained my button flies every time she touched me."

((Ignore him. He's just running his mouth.)) Angel picked up an automatic rifle, and checked the clip. Full.

"Don't you love it when she nibbles on your ear? Little tiny bites, like a cat."

((He's just trying to throw you off balance. Get a rise out of you. Think about trigger mechanisms.))

"And when she wraps those little legs around you... makes those whimpering-grunty noises? Hell, I still have wet dreams about that."

((Ignore him! He's just trying to push your buttons.))

Unfortunately, it was working. Even though Angel fought to maintain control, he could feel the already irritated demon raging inside him to kill the disrespectful whelp. Of course Buffy would never touch Spike... but just the thought of him thinking about touching her...

"You know, if I'da given half a thought to it, I woulda married her anyway. We were engaged, you know. It woulda been the right thing to do, too, considering I fucked her six ways from Sunday."

That was it. Angel felt the tethers on his temper snap, and was instantly out of the pick up and on his descendant. This time, he didn't bother with threatening, cursing, snarling, or hauling the smaller vampire up by his collar. He leapt straight onto him, knocking him to the ground, and knelt on his chest, raining full force blows on his face.

"YOU SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH, WHELP!" he roared, "You will NOT *punch* TALK *punch* ABOUT *punch punch* MY MATE *punch* THAT WAY, do you UNDERSTAND ME, *punch* BOY??"

Spike laughed despite feeling his jaw shatter as Angel rose to kick him in the head, sending him flying across the yard. He struggled to his feet.

And he kept right on laughing, too, even as his enraged GrandSire produced a stake from somewhere inside the billowing folds of his coat as he advanced menacingly.

"Oooh hoo! Looks like I finally hit a raw spot, eh, Precious? Whatsa matter, can't handle the fact that your unsullied Slayer was betrothed to your filthy issue, or that she came so hard when I fucked her, she almost ripped my dick off?"

With an ear-splintering bellow, Angel flew at him. Luckily, he was angry enough that his moves were sloppy, and Spike had just enough time to jump out of the way, still chuckling as the dark-haired vampire spun to follow him, hyperventilating like a bull... and nearly salivating like one, too.

The blond crouched, sneering at him, ready to move again.

"Hurts, don't it, Angelus, you stupid fuck? Huh? Don't like the notion of your *blood* fucking your *mate*, do ya? GOOD! Now you know how it bloody well feels, you bastard!"

Angel pulled up short on his next charge, nostrils flaring as he panted in rage. He smiled coldly at the younger demon.

Spike stopped laughing.

"Ah. Ah hah. I see what this is about, now. You think Drusilla dumping you like a sack of garbage was *my* fault." The dark haired vampire stalked slowly across the space that separated them. "Well, well. Who would have thought that William the Bloody had *issues* with his *GrandSire*?"

"Fuck you," Spike snarled.

Angel kept advancing, stake clutched so hard, his palm bled. "You smell like fear, little Willie Boy... and repressed anger. Maybe you should see somebody about that." He shrugged. "Unfortunately, you don't have enough time left to find a shrink you can really relate to, because I'm going to put me out of your misery, once and for all."

The younger vampire knew that look all too well. And remembered too many nights when it precipitated Angelus doing everything but staking him, wearing that very same eerie smile.

"Yeah? Go ahead. Stake me. Not gonna change the facts, mate."

Angel laughed, and the icy, hollow sound of it made Spike shiver in spite of himself. He tensed once more, ready to run.

"That you had sex with Buffy?" his GrandSire snorted, "That she was going to marry you? Very amusing. Do... tell me another one."

With a loud clink, Spike realized that he was backed up against the fence, with no way to escape but through the much larger, extremely pissed off demon.

He decided now was probably the time for some pretty righteous tap-dancing.

"All right all right, so I didn't really shag her! And the only reason we were engaged was because one of Red's spells went all wacky!" he explained quickly, trying to scoot his way down the fence, "And yeah, so we locked lips a bit. But she didn't like it. And the groping was really minima-GURK!"

Angel heaved his nemesis up off the ground -- this time, by a crushing grip around his throat.

"Time to die, Spike," he hissed.

"Guuurrrk!"

"You really should've kept your mouth shut, boy," Angel snarled, raising the stake, "But then, no one's ever accused you of being intelligent, have they?"

"OI, MATE, WAIT!" the blond choked, struggling furiously, finally truly frightened for his unlife by the cold murder in Angelus' amber eyes. "Wh-what about the Slayer?"

"I think she'll get over it."

"ANGEL, NO!!!" he heard Dawn screaming even through his homicidal haze, and felt 100 lbs. of teenager on his back not a moment later.

Shocked, Angel let the younger vampire drop to a heap in the grass, and spun around.

"What the..."

Dawn leapt off his back and got between the two demons, spreading her arms wide like a human shield.

The dark-haired vampire let his human features return. "Dawn, please. This is between Spike and I."

"I won't let you kill him!" she argued, crossing her arms over her chest as Spike struggled to his feat behind her. "You'll have to stake me first."

Angel sighed resignedly and tucked the stake back in his pocket, looking up just in time to see the blond stick his tongue out at him. Angel snarled softly under his breath.

"Angel... he's my friend," Dawn insisted softly.

He couldn't help the return of his jealousy, and despite his regaining control, his rage was no less.

"Fine. For now," he relented.

Spike opened his mouth (no doubt to say something smart), but before he got the chance, Dawn turned and pointed a little finger up in his face.

"And you -- stop teasing him! Don't you think he already hates you enough?"

Spike frowned. "But..."

"No! No buts! Both of you just... stop." The girl's voice, which had been sharp with anger, suddenly went soft and shot through with tears. "We have other stuff to worry about. If you guys want to kill each other, can't you wait until after the end of the world?"

Both vampires looked at their feet in chagrin, and muttered, "Okay. Sorry," simultaneously. Both heads shot up as they glared at one another. "Not you!"

Dawn tucked a hand in each man's arm, and led them back toward the house.

"Come on. We can go plan how to kick Glory's butt, instead."

Angel shot a look at Spike over the top of her head that clearly told the younger vampire that their discussion wasn't over yet.

Said vampire gave him a smirk.


	25. Chapter 25

To say things were tense was a painfully epic understatement. Angel couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so nervous... upset... angry... worried.

In spite of all that, he was still happy. He couldn’t help it. Although he knew full well the tension should have been his sole focus--his mind held squarely by the preparations for the coming battle, his continued desire to feel Spike’s *dust* on his skin, and the room full of demons fairly bubbling with barely restrained violence as the Watcher and ex-Watcher explained the plan for searching the town and casting a power net over Glory’s hideout to prevent her from being able to use magick to capture Dawn...

Not to mention all the other painful facts, such as the addition of Wolfram & Hart and the threat to his soul to their already long list of daunting problems... the almost unquenchable desire to see Riley Finn pay for his insult to Buffy...

But still, Angel’s heart refused to give up its joyful humming. Buffy sat nestled closely by his side through the entire strategy meeting, her warm little fingers entwined in his larger, colder ones. That sensation alone gave him some measure of peace and security. So long as they stood together, nothing could defeat the electricity he could feel flowing between them, as though his soul was wrapped so tightly around hers that no power in Heaven, Earth, or Hell could disentangle them.

That estimation included Wolfram & Hart. Whatever they had up their Armani sleeves--whatever magick they were planning to bring Angelus into their ranks -- certainly they hadn’t counted on the strength of his bond with the greatest Slayer in history.

No one and nothing would ever separate them again. He would die first.

When the meeting was finished, everyone scattered to prepare for patrol, and he followed his love upstairs to get her gear.

Buffy was understandably tense and upset as well. Her fine shoulders hunched up practically around her ears, and he swore he could almost hear the pained cacophony of her thoughts.

Angel shut the bedroom door behind them and approached her, wrapping her tightly in his arms.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss to the soft skin behind it. Buffy shivered, then relaxed against him, snaking a hand up into his hair.

"I love you, too," she sighed, and turned in his embrace, looking deeply into his eyes. "I’m scared, Angel."

He took a deep breath -- something he seemed to need to do a lot when he was around her. "I know. I am too. But we’ll get through this, Buffy. Just like we’ve gotten through every other disaster that’s come our way."

She searched his face, the sweeping gaze like a soft caress he felt in his soul. "You really believe that, don’t you?"

He nodded and gave her a smile. "I do. With all of my heart and soul. There’s nothing we can’t accomplish together."

Buffy’s frown softened into the first hint of a smile. "You know... I almost believe you."

Angel arched an eyebrow at her. "Almost?"

Her half-smile spread quickly into a grin. "You’re not going to quote poetry again, are you? Because... as much as I loved it last time, I don’t think now’s the right moment for an ‘adult situation.’"

Instead of replying to her quip, Angel brushed his lips to hers, drawing out the tender moment into a searing kiss.

She was right, of course. Now really wasn’t the time to do this... sweep his tongue tenderly between her lips, sweetly tangling with hers. Not the time to let his hands wander up under her sweatshirt to caress the warm skin of her back. He should be thinking about the violence of battle, not the storm of passion that immediately overcame him as his kisses meandered under her chin.

She sighed. "For such a sensitive guy, you’re really not a very good listener, are you?"

He chuckled softly, and with a final kiss to her pulsepoint, drew reluctantly away.

"Sorry... I can’t help it. You’re distracting," he explained.

"Well..." Buffy murmured, "For now, we need to focus, but... let’s see what happens when we come back from patrol. All that pent up energy will have to have some outlet, right?"

Angel simply nodded in response.

Her brow creased once more. "Aren’t you worried about... your soul?"

He gently traced the curve of her cheek. "No, I’m not."

She chewed on her lip. "I am. I couldn’t stand it if I lost you too. Not now."

"Hey. Stop that. You’re never going to lose me, Buffy. Wolfram & Hart can send the Devil himself after my soul, and it wouldn’t matter." His voice softened, dropping to barely a whisper. "It belongs to you. As long as yours exists."

Buffy stared into his eyes for a long time, memorizing the glow of his essence that she could see so clearly in their dark depths. "Can I get that in writing?"

Angel pulled away with a smile and offered his wrist. "You can have it in blood, if you want."

She wrinkled up her nose in distaste. "Uh, no. I’ll just have to take your word for it."

He chuckled. "You didn’t seem to mind the other night."

Buffy blushed as she moved to the closet, dragging out her already-packed weapons bag. "Well, you do a lot of things during sex you don’t do every day. Like shout in Gaelic."

"Touche," he agreed with a grin, and glanced down at her bag. "You’d think you were a boy scout or something."

She turned and held up her hand in salute. "Always be prepared for the Hosts of Hell to come bearing down on you. That’s my motto."

Angel took the bag from her. "Allow me."

She gave him a little bow. "Thank you, kind sir." With her now-free hands, she produced her double-barrel crossbow and a short sword from the closet. "Leaves more hands free for more weapons."

He felt a swell of pride grow in his chest to see her -- so fierce and beautiful. What creature wouldn’t freeze in awe or run in terror at the sight of his mighty Slayer?

"Ready?" he asked, his voice slightly choked, and tried to ignore the fact that his heart was screaming that it *wasn’t* ready -- it wanted to stay here and forget about Keys and souls, lawyers and Hellgods... just hide in this room and make love to his mate until the end of the world.

"Nope," Buffy replied brightly, slinging her crossbow over her shoulder and taking his hand before heading for the door.

As soon as they stepped into the hall, the were assaulted with the sounds of shouting from downstairs. Giles and Hank... again. Shooting a glance at one another, Buffy and Angel dropped their burdens and made a mad dash for the stairs.

Sure enough, the two men stood toe to toe, menacing one another, barking in loud, clipped tones.

"You cannot simply show up here and take Dawn!"

"I can, and in fact, I am!"

One positive note, in Buffy’s estimation -- her father hadn’t brought his pet rattlesnake, Sophie. And another... Dawn was nowhere to be seen.

"What’s going on here?" Buffy cut in, stepping between the two feuding men.

Hank scowled down at her, his hazel eyes flashing. "Don’t you think I should be asking you that? What is this, young lady, a post funeral rave?"

The Slayer glanced around in horror at the crowd scattered all around the first floor of the house. Thankfully, at least someone had the presence of mind to keep their less than human members out of sight.

Which... really didn’t make the scene any less strange -- armor and weapons were strewn all over the living room on one side of them, the dining room table looked like someone had blown up the old library... again... and there were at least 30 people perched on various pieces of furniture and the floor, talking or working with weapons.

"Uh..." Buffy began.

Angel stepped in. "We’re helping Buffy with a history project. With everything that’s been going on, her grades were slipping, so we thought re-enacting the battle of Hastings would go a long way toward extra credit."

Buffy smiled up at him gratefully, while everyone else within earshot gave him shocked looks. He had to admit, it was a pretty damned good story on such short notice. It seemed to work, too. Hank’s color became noticeably less red, but when he spoke, his voice was still marred with anger.

"That’s very nice of you, uh..."

"Angel," he offered.

"Angel. Yes. Well, that’s all well and good." He looked at Buffy again. "But it *still* doesn’t make it a healthy environment for a child! All these weapons? Someone could get *killed*!"

"Dad..." Buffy began to object.

Hank held up a hand. "No, Buffy. I came over here to talk to you... see if we couldn’t find some neutral ground in this. But now I see that Sophie was right all along. You may be an adult, and your lifestyle is certainly your business, but Dawn is *not*. I’m taking her tonight. We can come back for her things before we leave town tomorrow."

"NO!" she shouted.

"Mr. Summers, you have no idea what you’re asking," Giles interjected, "These people are Dawn’s friends... they’re here to help her."

He turned his anger on the Watcher. "You, sir, are the most disturbing thing about all of this! What appeal is there in taking care of this family, hm? Can’t have one of your own, so you take the first parentless one you find?"

Willow stepped out of her stunned shock. "Hey! You can’t say that about Giles!"

"You’re not taking Dawn!" Buffy yelped. Angel put his arm around her and pulled her close.

"I am, and *right now*!" her father raged, going to the foot of the stairs, "Dawn, come down here, please!"

There was a chorus of objections and continued arguing as Mr. Summers walked through the house, shouting his younger daughter’s name before they all stopped in the living room to shout at one another again.

When the girl didn’t appear, Angel started to get worried. Where was she hiding? He broke from the rest of the group and searched the house and yard himself. He found Carl and the other demons playing cards in the basement, but they said they hadn’t seen her.

Panic clutched at his chest as he ran another lap around, upstairs and down, and still didn’t find her. Finally, he returned to her room one last time for a closer look... Maybe under the bed? That had been his favorite hiding place as a boy. Of course, Dawn wasn’t that young, but...

Nothing under the bed. He turned to the closet and threw open the doors...

And found it empty. All of Dawn’s clothes were gone.

For a moment, Angel stood there, frozen in shock, staring into the dark, gaping space that should have been filled with a teenager’s fashionable things.

"BUFFY!" he was screaming before he started to move, making record time even for a vampire as he dashed down the stairs into the midst of his bickering friends.

"She’s gone!" he barked at them, and turned his irrational rage and fear on Buffy’s father. "Are you satisfied?"

Hanks eyes went wide.

"Oh, my God," Buffy whispered.

***

Dawn had no idea where to go. Where could she hide from everything in the world? Her father... Buffy... Glory... she just wanted to be alone. Somewhere quiet where she could think all of this through.

She didn’t want to go with her father and Sophie, that was for sure, but right now she didn’t really want to be in Sunnydale, either. In fact, what she really wanted to do was become someone else entirely. Like... the kid she thought she was just a couple of months ago... instead of whatever she’d become.

She’d run for a while, even with her heavy duffel bag, and now she found herself in Monument Park. Not the safest place in town to be, but... she needed to stop for a minute and catch her breath while she decided what to do next.

She sank down on a bench and dropped her bag beside her. Rooting around in the pockets of her jacket, she pulled out her life’s savings -- $150.00. Maybe she could take a bus somewhere... like Australia.

"Idiot. You can’t take a bus to Australia," she muttered to herself.

"No, but you can hitch a freighter. That’s free," Spike informed her, stepping out of the shadows. "Problem is... cargo holds are pretty nasty. All those rats..."

Dawn glared up at the blond vampire. "Are you following me... again?"

He shrugged and plopped down on the bench beside her. "Just out for a stroll. Bored watching your kin play life-sized Risk."

"Oh," she replied, looking down at her hands in her lap.

"Probably isn’t so safe to be running around out here by yourself, what with a Hell God after your hide an all." Spike glanced at the bag beside her. "Don’t imagine the Slayer knows you’re leavin’ home, either."

The girl shot him a look. "Do you need me to clear up the concept of running away for you? If you tell someone you’re going, it’s really more of a trip."

"Know all about running away, thanks." He turned to look out over the park, reaching into his coat for a cigarette.

"You know, you shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you," Dawn reminded him.

He took a long drag and regarded her for a moment. "You do realize that I’m dead, right?"

She shrugged. "Still. You’re supporting evil corporations with your money."

He didn’t bother to inform the chit that he usually *stole* his cigarettes, or remind her that he *was* evil... especially considering the fact that he was currently doing something pretty bloody *not* evil--guarding the sister of the Slayer.

Spike had been watching her all night... how she kept frowning harder and harder until he could hardly see her little face anymore. How she’d disappeared for a long while, climbing the stairs to her room with a determined scowl on her face. He had a feeling he knew what she was up to, and when her pop arrived and the whole place exploded, he hid in the trees nearest her window and had to give himself a pat on the back for his predator’s instincts not going dull from disuse when he saw first her bag, and then her little body, sliding off the overhang of the roof.

He figured it wouldn’t do to let the girl get snatched when the Slayer and Co. were inside, all busting their asses to prevent just that, and if he was forced to tell the truth... he really did like the girl. She had the same fire as her far bitchier sister, and was the only member of the White Hats left who didn’t look at him like he was a fly munching on a big pile of stinky dog shit when they talked to him.

And tonight... she had sort of saved his sorry arse from his big idiot fairy of a GrandSire.

Now the trick was... how to get her back to the safety of Scooby Central without making her bolt again.

"You know, I ran away once when I was your age," he informed her.

Dawn quirked an eyebrow at him. "You did? How come?"

He shrugged. "Wanted to be a pirate."

She laughed. "You did not!"

"Bloody well did so. Hated my life. My mother was an overbearing old hag, and my father was a big fa...fop. I wanted to be bad, you know? Sail the seven seas and all that."

"So... what happened?" she asked, interested. She always liked Spike’s stories. Especially the scary ones.

"Got the stuffin’ beat outta me down on the pier. All my crap got stolen, and I had to crawl back home with my sorry tail between my legs."

"What... what did your parents do?"

The vampire sighed. "Mum wouldn’t talk to me for a week. My father... cried."

"Wow. That blows," Dawn commented sympathetically.

"Yeah, well..." Spike crushed his cigarette out under his boot. "Point is, what’s out here is a whole damn sight uglier than anything you’re looking at back home. You know the Slayer and the Big Fairy are probably flipping their goody-goody lids right about now over you."

The younger Summers frowned. "I don’t care. I’m tired of being treated like a baby... or like I’m made of glass or something. And I’m *really* tired of nobody asking me what *I* want to do. I mean... this is *my* life that they’re fighting over. But nobody cares what I think."

Spike snorted derisively. "Well, sittin’ out here mopin’ in the damn park sure isn’t gonna prove them wrong. If you want to be heard, you gotta speak up, don’t you think?"

Dawn gave a weary sigh, and admitted, "Yeah, I guess."

Spike stood, grabbing her bag. "Right, then. Let’s go back and give those bastards what for, shall we?"

She stared up at her demon friend for a moment, then took the hand he offered. They started heading back to Revello.

"Spike... will you... stay with me? I mean... when I talk to them?" she ventured, almost shyly.

The blond gave her a grin. "Bloody well right, I will. Wouldn’t miss that scene for all the Guinness in Ireland."


	26. Chapter 26

It took less than five minutes for the already hyper-vigilant soldiers to mobilize and make arrangements to split up for a Dawn search.

Buffy was more than a little bit concerned about some of the people who insisted on joining them -- her father and Giles, for instance. Not that she didn't think her Watcher could take care of himself, especially with three members of Gunn's team backing him up. But her father?

But...they needed to find Dawn -- and *fast*. If the influx of demons was even close to what Gunn and Kate had reported, time was running out. The fact that Spike had vanished along with her sister gave her a small glimmer of hope -- maybe he was doing his job and shadowing her. But with things moving so quickly before Glory would need to do her ritual, and with the increased manpower of the lawyers, she was doubly freaked about her friends and family out pounding the pavement.

Her sister could be anywhere by now. And even with all of them spreading out in a net over the town, they could still miss her.

Or worse, already be too late.

It was Tara who finally broke through all of the chaos with a plan that might actually work. She stood up in the middle of the room, and shouted for everyone to be quiet.

All eyes turned instantly to her, and she blushed, but forged on.

"Wh-why don't we j-just d-do a..." her eyes ticked uncomfortably to Mr. Summers, "Um... locator s-spell?"

Giles' face lit up even as Hank's collapsed into a scowl.

"A what?" he yelped.

Buffy grabbed Tara in a crushing hug. "OH GOD, THANK YOU!"

"I don't know why we didn't think of this sooner," Giles lamented, moving over to the two Witches and the hugging Slayer.

Willow grinned proudly. "Well... you know... everybody was distracted..."

Tara looked over Buffy's head. "Th-that way, we d-don't have to send everybody out on a r-really dangerous wild g-goose chase."

"We've done it before," Willow assured them, "It's a really simple spell. We just need the right ingredients."

Buffy finally pulled away. "Okay, let's do it, then."

Mr. Summers stepped toward them. "Wait... did you say a...a spell?"

Giles sighed and placed a steadying hand on the confused and frightened man's shoulder.

"Mr. Summers... perhaps you and I should have a cup of tea... and talk. Wesley? Would you join us?"

"Of course," the younger Englishman replied, and followed the two men to the kitchen.

"There's only one problem," Willow complained.

Buffy frowned, "What?"

"Ingredients," Tara sighed. "We need essence of silverbane and white sage, eye of bat and some other stuff I'm thinking you probably don't have in your spice rack."

Angel stepped in. "Not a problem. Doesn't Giles own a magick shop?"

"Yeah, but the point is not to have anybody go out if they don't have to," Buffy reminded him.

The vampire gave her a comforting smile. "I'll go. I can drive."

"Oh, no," she replied, "You're as much a target here as Dawn is."

"So are you," Xander commented from his seat on the couch.

"He's right," Wesley agreed, reappearing from the kitchen, "All of us are. We could be used as bait to draw you out, Buffy."

"Maybe," she said, "But we have to find Dawn. Now. Okay... Angel and I will go."

Angel nodded his agreement. "Quick in, quick out. Willow, can you write us up a list?"

The redhead grabbed a sheet of notebook paper and furiously complied.

Gunn stepped forward. "Why don't we go do the original recon? Maybe we can track down this Glory chick's lair."

"I'd really rather you didn't," Buffy informed him. "I don't want anybody else in danger."

Her new friend grinned. "Danger's our game, girl. Where've you been? We're going. Angel?"

The vampire nodded. "Be careful. Check in here on the half-hour. If you run into anything you can't handle, call me on the cell."

"Check."

"Okay, fine," the Slayer grumped, "We'll get the stuff, do the locator spell, and Gunn and his guys will already be out there. Maybe we should get the demons out too, now that Giles is busy revealing all my deepest, darkest secrets to my dad."

"I'll take care of it," Kate volunteered. She stopped on her way by to touch Angel gently on the arm. "Be careful, okay? Both of you."

"We will," Angel promised her, and turned back to Buffy. "Let's get going."

The house was instantly a flurry of activity once more as vampire and Slayer headed out, followed closely by Angel's well-armed colleagues.

***

Spike knew almost immediately that they were being followed. Whatever it was kept downwind in the shadows, and he suspected magick at work as well. He couldn't catch a glimpse of anything out of the corner of his vision. One of a vampire's sharpest hunting gifts was the ability to see motion... even the smallest twitch. His internal alarms were screaming, but he couldn't find any tangible proof that anything was there.

He picked up the pace, earning an objection from the tired girl beside him who was forced to jog to keep up. "Hey! Human legs, here. What's the rush?"

The vampire didn't want to scare her any more than she was already scared, but he also had no intention of giving Glory's minions a shot at snatching her, either.

"Hungry, that's all," he grumbled without slowing down.

Dawn's eyes widened at his tone. "Is something wrong? Is somebody following us?" She swung her head this way and that, searching the trees nearby.

Spike didn't bother to reply, but instead, grabbed her arm and pulled her out into the street. The more out in the open they were, the better.

He heard a distinct crack in the bushes near the opposite side of the road, and whipped his head around to catch a glimpse of a shimmer in the air where the noise had originated -- a sure sign of some sort of magick -- a cloaking glamour, maybe?

Whatever it was would probably have to drop the shield to make a move -- hence the shimmer.

Without a word, Spike dropped Dawn's bag, scooped her up under one arm, and ran full speed toward the nearest domicile where he still had an invitation, ignoring her shouts of fearful protest as he sprinted toward Giles' condo.

There was no mistaking the sound of footsteps behind them.

***

The Magic Box was, naturally, empty. It looked for all intents and purposes like every other storefront on the main street, and was more or less exactly how Angel remembered it. He couldn't count the number of times he'd come here over the years to get supplies... the last time being during his first months after returning from Hell, when he and Buffy (and Spike)... had fought off a cadre of the Mayor's minions with bottles of holy water.

((You're not friends! You'll never *be* friends! You'll be in love until it kills you both!))

He almost had to smile at the irony as Buffy used her key to let them in. Who would have thought -- or at least admitted -- that his idiot GrandChilde could be more honest and insightful than he and Buffy put together?

He moved to follow her through the door, and almost fell over in shock to hit a threshold barrier.

The vampire stared at Buffy in confusion. "What... Does... somebody *live* here?"

"Oh. No, sorry. A little precaution Will and Tara cooked up. Uh... what was the release... oh... raptack ataljin."

The obstruction gave, and Angel almost stumbled again, turning back to give the enchanted entry a dark look before he joined Buffy in the shop. She was already hurrying around, throwing items from the shelves into a bag, and crossing them off Willow's list as she went.

"Impressive. I like what he's done with the place," he commented.

"Yeah. There's a gym in the back, too. Can you help me, please?"

He complied, taking the list from her.

Angel hated seeing her like this... frantic, terrified. Shaking almost imperceptibly from head to foot. All their talk of earlier--all the good it had seemed to do her--had vanished with Dawn's disappearance.

Not that he wasn't worried as well. Now about finding Dawn as well as protecting her.

And something else, too. It was just a feeling... like cold fingers of dread clutching at his gut... a tingling sensation in his blood that had started suddenly an hour or so before, and grown progressively stronger since. If he had been psychic in any way, he would have called it a premonition. But as it was, there was only one thing he could imagine it signaling.

His Sire. Darla was the only being besides Buffy, and perhaps Dru, to a lesser degree, who could effect him physically with nothing more than simple proximity. And that sensation, much to his shame, set all of the demon's instincts to raging once more.

Darla was coming. And if Angel could feel her, then she couldn't be far.

The threat to his soul suddenly seemed far more dire than it had previously. He didn' t think that the vampiress wanted anything to do with Wolfram & Hart, after the way they used her. She hadn't been anywhere nearby during the Feast of Souls.

But maybe her resentment over his dismissal of her had grown enough to send her back to Lindsey... to help her get revenge, or... maybe her mate back.

They didn't warn against the danger of a woman scorned for nothing. Add a vicious, bloodthirsty demon to the mix, and the fury he would be facing would no doubt be multiplied tenfold.

Darla had been an indulgent Dam. She had been far more interested in his position as her lover and playmate than building a true Sire/Childe relationship, with all of its violence and bloody ritual. But she had, on more than once occasion, lost her temper at his willfulness, and punished him in old, time-honored ways... chains and holy water... whips and cross-shaped brands.

It made his bones ache just to recall it...

Worse, the memories and their implications made his heart ache, as well. If his Sire was coming after him, then his presence was more of a danger to Buffy and their friends than an aid.

He swallowed stiffly. He couldn't allow her or the others to be any further in harm's way than they already were because of his foolish mistakes. Of all the methods he could have chosen to end his existence, why had he taken that particular path?

There was no help for it. He needed to get as far away from Sunnydale as possible, as quickly as possible.

"Buffy," he called her softly as he approached.

The Slayer glanced up from her frenzied gathering. "Grab, um... three bunches of Sage, would you? The white, not the mountain. We need to..."

Angel stopped her motion with a gentle hand on her arm, turning her to face him fully.

Looking up into his eyes, seeing the sorrow and fear mixed there, her own terror multiplied. She gripped his arms.

"Angel... what is it?"

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly to keep his voice even.

"Darla's coming."

Buffy's eyes went wide. "What?" she gasped, "Here? Now? How do you..."

"I can feel her," he explained contritely.

His lover let go and slowly backed away, shaking her head. "No. No, not now. She can' t..."

Uncertain if he should follow her, Angel remained where he was. "She may already be here. Buffy... I shouldn't be near you. I should go."

His lover's expression of horror quickly morphed to anger. "What? What are you talking about?"

Angel turned away. "It's dangerous for us to be together. She's after me, not you. She won't hesitate to kill you to get what she wants." He closed his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face, and muttered, more to himself, than anything, "I should have known. I should have seen this coming. She's probably working with Lindsey."

Buffy advanced on him, and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn and face her again. His eyes seemed to have gone dull suddenly, the sparkle of hope she had seen there over their past few days together extinguished, just like that. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

He could barely stand to look at her. The need to protect her from the fallout of his stupidity... to get away from her before Darla hunted them both down, was irresistible.

She pulled his hands away from his pockets and gave them a fierce squeeze. "You're not going *anywhere*. I don't care if the whole goddamn cast of "Blade" is after you, do you understand? I'm not letting you out of my *sight*!"

Angel forced his eyes up to meet hers. They burned with certainty... anger and love. Stubborn determination. All beautiful, romantic things that sent a rush of bittersweet love through his heart.

All things that would get her killed if he indulged them.

"You don't understand, Buffy."

Her scowl intensified. "No? Then *make* me understand. Because I'm not letting you leave here without me."

He steeled himself against dual urges -- to give in to her and fall apart in her arms, and to shout at her.

"Darla is no ordinary vampire. She's Twice Made -- twice as powerful. And she's out for more than just my soul. She wants revenge for the way I treated her. That puts you in ten times the danger you might otherwise have been in." He pulled out of her grip. "I can't let my mistakes hurt you, too."

Angel began to turn and leave before she could say anything more, but Buffy had a death grip on his coat before he'd taken a step, and jumped in front of him.

"You are NOT going ANYWHERE, damn it! You were the one who said we would face whatever came together, right? Well, I took that seriously! What's one more evil demon Hell bent for our asses? Let them all come, I don't care! I'm NOT letting anything happen to you!" she shouted, "Stop being a noble idiot and help me get this stuff so we can find Dawn!"

He started at first at the ferocity of her words, and watched as she returned to snatching bottles from the shelves and tossing them in a paper bag she'd set next to the register.

As difficult as it was to admit when his every instinct was screaming at him to put as much distance between himself and his mate before his Sire came looking for him as he could, he realized that Buffy was right. And that he had been about to make the exact same mistake that had almost cost him his soul the last time he was faced with Darla's reappearance -- pushing everyone around him away in some misguided attempt to protect them, and handle everything himself. Hadn't the past six months taught him anything? And wasn't it horribly hypocritical of him to expect Buffy to share her most painful burdens if he didn't do the same?

He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, pushed the panic and fear away, then approached her once more. Without a word, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her deeply.

"Wh-what was that for?" she asked breathlessly when he let her go and gathered the last few ingredients on the list.

Angel glanced at her over his shoulder with a half-smile. "For reminding me," he replied, and returned to his task.

Buffy blinked at his back for a moment before shaking off her daze and rejoining him, wondering...

Would she ever figure this vampire out?


	27. Chapter 27

Spike dialed the number again as he paced, taking a moment to peek out of one window, then the next as he listened to the busy signal droning on at the Slayer's house.

"Damn it! What, are they on the internet?" he raged, clicking it off. It hardly mattered that he still hadn't seen a single creature approach the condo. In fact, that was worse -- there was no way for him to tell what was out there, or how many of them there were.

The vampire stalked back into the living room, where Dawn sat calmly watching TV. She glanced up at his approach.

"Anything?"

Spike shook his head, not understanding how his little pal could stay so calm when there could very well be a whole army of invisible demons sitting right outside the door, waiting for the chance to feed her to Glory. He hated feeling trapped like this, but there was no way he could make a run for it. No way he could fight his way back to the Scoobies when he had Dawn to worry about. And he certainly wasn't going to leave her here alone.

He stopped pacing. What the bloody Hell was happening to him? Not so damn long ago, he would have had the chit for breakfast and laughed all the way over to kick Buffy and the Poufter's asses while he bragged about how good she tasted! Now, look at him -- standing here, playing bodyguard/babysitter, and for what? Poofy Boy was back, and had totally obliterated any chance he might have had at getting down Buffy's dainty drawers...

So what the fuck was he doing here?

He frowned. Screw the introspection. That was the souled fruit's territory. Something needed doing, and he was the damn demon to do it. Not like he had any choice in the matter.

He was getting ready to redial when he heard a noise coming from outside the front door.

Dawn heard it too, and jumped to her feet. The vampire held his hand up to keep her quiet, then gestured for the girl to get upstairs. She ran quietly behind him and disappeared. Spike crept, predator quiet, toward the noise, and reached out for the knob, praying to all the gods in wherever the Hell it was the gods lived that it would be vampires -- at least then they couldn't get in.

He took a deep breath and threw open the door to find a large... something dressed entirely in black, crouched down at doorknob level, looking up at him in shock. Spike jumped back when he saw the figure's face, and the creature stood to its full height.

"YOU!" Spike and Riley Finn barked in unison.

***

Hank sat clutching his scotch, staring vacantly into space as he had for the past twenty minutes since Giles finished his story.

The Watcher felt terribly for Buffy's father. All right -- perhaps not as terribly as he might have -- after all, the man had been little more than a selfish pillock for as long as he had been aquainted with him. Nonetheless, Giles experienced a definite pang of sympathy. It was never easy for a person to have their entire worldview demolished quite so thoroughly. In fact, Hank refused to believe a word of it at first, ranting about Giles and Wesley being madmen and threatening to call the police.

Rupert did the only thing he could do. He introduced Hank Summers to the members of the Forsath clan who had been left behind to guard the Slayer's home. His jaw quite literally dropped to the floor as he shook the shiny pink flipper of the demon who called himself "Jim".

Now he was afraid that the shock had simply been too much. Hank looked desperately pale, and the hand which held his third drink tremored heavily.

"So you must understand why it is so imperative for Dawn to remain here, where she can be looked after until the danger has passed." Giles hadn't bothered to tell him about Dawn's true origin, instead choosing to explain that the sister of the Slayer was a target for sacrifice due to her blood. The poor man already had enough to contend with as it was without having to digest the news that his youngest child didn 't even exist until a few months ago.

Hank nodded absently, his posture and expression not changing at all. "Th-that ... that was ... a ... d-demon," he stuttered for what had to be at least the hundredth time.

"It was," he concurred.

The man forced his head to turn, and his bewildered gaze fell on the Englishman. "You... you said that... Buffy... k-kills demons."

Giles sighed and downed the rest of his scotch, quickly pouring another. He held up the bottle in offer toward his Slayer's father, who nodded. He filled the other man's tumbler once more before he retook his seat.

"That's correct."

"Why... then why... are they here... why doesn't she... oh, Christ." He set his glass down on the island and buried his face in his hands. "I don't know what to think of all this." Looking up, Giles could see a spark of hope -- or perhaps it was madness? -- flashing in his eyes. "Maybe I'm going insane. Maybe I'm hallucinating... all the stress..."

The Watcher slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Summers. Everything that I've told you is the truth. Your daughter is the Chosen One, and it is her Sacred Duty to protect the world from evil. Glorificus intends to open a portal to her dimension using Dawn as a sacrifice, and Buffy and her friends are gathered here to prevent that from happening."

Hank squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and opened them again with a resigned sigh. "All right. I'm willing to suspend my disbelief, for their sakes. It certainly does explain a lot of Buffy's behavior..."

Giles nodded. ((But not all of it, I'm sure...))

"But if she kills demons, I don't understand why there are demons in the... basement."

The Englishman chuckled. "That is even more difficult to explain, I'm afraid. You see, not all demons -- or vampires, for that matter -- are evil..."

Before he could launch any further into his tale, there was a harrowing scream and a crash from the living room. Both men leapt from their seays and dashed in to find Cordelia sprawled out on the floor clutching her head, flanked by Wesley and Willow.

"What is it? What's happened?" Giles yelped.

Wesley glanced up, worry marring his features. "She's had a vision." He and the redhead worked together to help Cordy to her feet. "Could someone please fetch some aspirin and a glass of water?"

Hank turned and jogged back into the kitchen as Wesley eased his fallen friend onto the couch.

"What did you see?" Willow asked, her voice small with fright.

But not as much fear as showed in Cordelia's wide brown eyes as she looked from Wesley to Giles.

"Oh, God... Angel... Buffy..." she cried, fighting back tears, "Someone's... we have to find them! Call him!"

Wesley was already on the phone.

***

Angel drove as quickly as he dared. The Belvedere was far too large for high-speed precision driving down these narrow suburban streets. He swore to himself for the second time in recent memory that someday, he would invest in a sports car.

Not that a faster car would help against the traffic lights. He'd never understood the insistence on stupid stoplights in this little town. Precious time was ticking by as he and Buffy waited at a red light for absolutely nothing to happen.

((Might as well use the time constructively.))

"Buffy... can I ask you something?"

His love glanced over at him, and gave the hand she held a squeeze. "Of course."

Angel swallowed stiffly and took a deep breath. He wondered -- would they ever run out of issues they needed to cover together? "Were you... engaged to Spike?"

Buffy's eyes went wide, and she turned her gaze straight ahead as she blushed furiously, but didn't reply.

He felt a tiny shock of hurt and anger--not to mention absolute shock--in his gut. "Buffy?"

"It's not... it wasn't what you're thinking," she murmured. "We weren't involved or anything. *Believe* me."

He sighed deeply. To tell the truth, he was full of too many other things to be terribly upset about this little bit of absurdity. It would simply be one more reason to pummel the Hell out of Spike later on. "Then what was it? Spike said something about... a spell?"

The Slayer nodded, and had to smile a little. "Willow did this thing when Oz left... to have her will done. It didn't work on her or Oz, but... it worked on me and Spike. She made some offhanded comment about how if he was so important, I should just marry him, and..."

"You got engaged," he finished for her, still in shock. His beautiful love... betrothed to that...putrid... disrespectful little...

"I'm sorry."

So... that part of Spike's annoyance campaign had been true, then. Which,in spite of his better judgement, made Angel wonder about the rest of it. "No... it wasn't... your fault. But, Buffy... I have to know. You can tell me, and I promise I won't judge. Did you..."

Before he got a chance to finish his question, his cell phone rang. At the same moment, the light turned green, and he jammed his foot onto the gas, speeding into the intersection as the answered it.

"Yeah?"

"ANGEL! GET OUT OF THE CAR! NOW!" Wesley shouted, at the exact same moment that Buffy grabbed his arm and screamed, "ANGEL!!!"

Time crawled to slow motion as he turned his head to see the front end of a Mack truck hurtling toward Buffy's side of the car. He yanked the wheel sharply to the left, but some part of him knew even as he did it that it was far too late. The last sound he heard before the world went black was the sound of metal screeching on metal, and Buffy's pained shrieking.

***

"I don't even want to know what you lot are doing here," Spike bitched as the first floor of Giles' home swarmed with black-clad soldiers.

Riley ignored him, and tried to speak to a suddenly very freaked out Dawn, who had reappeared at the bottom of the stairs when she heard the commotion.

The vampire couldn't help but chuckle at that particular irony. When he and Little Bit had a pack of God knows what monsters in hot pursuit, she was cool as... well, a corpse, frankly. But the moment the soldier boys showed up, she immediately turned into a squealing mess.

He had to admire the chit's priorities. She knew who could protect her, and who was a big fat wanker pansy with nothing going for him but a gun and a really stupid hat.

Finally, one of the other jarheads realized that Spike was standing there, and approached him.

"Well well, if it isn't Hostile 17," the grunt drawled, "How's that chip working out for you?"

Spike gave him the finger and walked toward Riley, who stood to full height and met him in the center of the living room.

"What the Hell's going on, Spike? We had a report of a huge surge in demon activity here."

The blond vampire shrugged nonchalantly. "Looks like Glory hired herself an army, and all her countrymen are gathering for the grand portal opening tomorrow night. Half Pint's the Key she's been looking for all this time."

Riley grimaced, reeling for a moment as he realized that this was yet another thing Buffy had hidden from him. He shoved the thought away and grabbed the vampire by the arm, pulling him out of Dawn's earshot. "What are you doing here alone with her? Where's Buffy?"

Spike could hardly believe his luck. First the opportunity to stick it to his GrandSire, and now a chance to get a few good digs in on Captain Vampfood, as well.

"Sort of a long story, Dudley," he grinned.

Riley dragged the vampire toward the door. "Then you can tell me on the way to wherever Buffy is."

***

"We were cut off," Wesley lamented as he hung up and turned to look at the others, "I think we were too late."

The living room, though packed to the gills, was deathly silent.

"Cordy... what else did you see?" Willow asked softly, fighting back her tears.

Cordelia, on the other hand, didn't bother resisting her urge to cry. Her voice choked with sobs as she tried to explain her vision. "I don't... I don't know... I just... saw the truck, and A-angel's... Angel's car. And blood." She looked frantically up at Wesley. "Blood. There was blood everywhere. Buffy's blood."

"Oh God," Giles moaned, and sunk into the chair next to him.

"We have to do something! Call 911!" Hank barked.

"I don't see what good calling the paramedics is going to do if she's already..." Anya began, but for once, cut herself off without needing a reminder from the others. Death was something to be extra sensitive about, as she'd discovered the hard way. Especially if it was Buffy's death. Luckily, no one was paying much attention to her anyway.

Cordy shook her head. "There were... demons. A *lot* of demons... it wasn't an accident. The police would never get there in time, and even if they did... Oh God... Angel," she sobbed, breaking down in Willow's arms.

"What are we gonna do? First Dawn, now this?" Xander yelped, getting up to pace the living room.

"I'll beep Gunn -- see if he has a team nearby," Wesley offered, then spoke gently to Cordelia once more. "Delia... do you know where the accident happened?"

She nodded. "S-sycamore and Lexington. At the light by the Post Office."

Wesley quickly dialed Gunn's pager number, then sat beside his friend to wait.

"God help us," Hank muttered, sagging back against the wall.

***

Angel regained consciousness slowly, aware of only two things: skull-ringing pain thr ough every inch of his body... and the stench of blood everywhere.

Buffy's blood.

"Buffy..." he groaned, trying to sit up, but found himself unable to move. He was pinned under... something. He pushed against it, realizing that he was still in the car, and the front end was crushed, the metal and plastic of the dash and the steering column twisted, trapping him beneath. Angel fought to open his eyes and turn to see if she was...

His side of the car was demolished, but... the passenger's side was simply *gone*.

He stared disbelievingly at the wreckage through the blood running into his eyes.

Gone. Not just Buffy herself, but the entire door... and the seat. By the ragged condition of the car, it looked as though it had been ripped out.

"BUFFY!" he screamed. He couldn't feel her -- couldn't smell her scent beyond the blood, or hear her heartbeat nearby. The vampire kept pushing at the wreckage binding him to his seat, but was only able to move it slightly due to his injuries: broken ribs, internal bleeding, probably a punctured lung, if the pain breathing caused was any indication.

Good thing he could stop. Angel sat absolutely still for several moments, fighting the waves of pain, panic and terror that threatened to overwhelm him. As he stilled, the demon asserted itself in a blaze of fury.

Someone had taken its wounded mate.

He let the frenzy of the rage loose, and with a howl, wrenched the remains of the dash away from his body. By sheer force of will, he dragged himself out of the gaping hole that had once been the passenger's side of his car, collapsing to the earth below.

The rush of adrenaline provided by the demon taking control was just enough to propel him to his feet and staggering around the outside of the overturned car. He tried to scent her... feel something... sense *anything* that might tell him which way she'd been taken. The pain made it difficult to concentrate, but even through that, one imperative stormed in his brain.

((Find her. Find her. Find her.))

"BUFFFFYYYYYYYY!!!!" he roared into the night.


	28. Chapter 28

Spike didn't imagine that Riley could possibly frown any harder without his face breaking off. But he was more than willing to find out.

"I can't believe it..." the stunned soldier muttered. "I just can't..."

"Lemme guess -- you can't believe it," Spike grumbled from the place where the commandos had chained him alone in the back seat of one of their Hum V's.

"You know, you don't have to keep him tied up," Dawn reminded the idiot for the hundredth time since they'd left the Watcher's house, "He can't hurt anybody."

"I know," Riley replied, "I just prefer him that way."

"Guess the kink extends to bondage too, eh, mate?" Spike mocked.

"Shut up, Spike," the soldier snapped back, then looked at Dawn again. "So... you seem to be doing all right. How's Buffy handling your mom's passing? Is she okay?"

The girl shrugged. She was on total sensory overload now, and wished desperately that she had never stopped on that stupid bench to begin with. She could've been halfway to Kansas or somewhere, by now, if Spike hadn't caught up with her. Dealing with Riley and all his questions on top of everything else was just too much. The *last* thing she wanted to do was play referee for her sister's screwed up love life.

"She's okay," she answered simply.

"Much better now that Angel's back," Spike added helpfully, "She was headin' for a pretty hefty Slayer-style breakdown after that whole vamp whore incident you dragged her through... and then with Joyce passin', rest her soul. But... the old GrandSire rolled into town and cleaned everything right up. Set her on her feet again."

"What?" Riley barked, "Did you say..." He spun to look at Dawn. "Did he say... Angel?"

She nodded. "He's back," she confirmed, "He and Buffy are working things out."

Spike realized in a moment that he was wrong about the tosser's scowl after all.

"But... his soul..." Riley objected weakly. He didn't know why it should bother him so much. After all, he and Buffy had broken up months ago. And he had gone to Giles' first to avoid having to see her, if he could. Their relationship was doomed from the start, he realized now, and he had spent the last few months trying to put all that behind him.

But... it still hurt to know that Buffy was back with the creature whose fault it was that they had problems to begin with. The one who had broken her heart, but had cast such a spell on her that it had never even had a chance to heal.

"Not a problem," Spike explained, "All glued in tight, thanks to a little screwed up mojo from the Lawyers."

"This... Wolfram & Hart that are working for Glory? Why would they help..." He shook his head. "Forget it. I don't want to know."

As they turned the corner onto Lexington Drive, Riley slammed on the brakes -- the remains of a car were scattered all over the road.

"Oh my god! That's Angel's car!" Dawn screamed, and jumped out before they even came to a complete stop.

"What the..." Riley mumbled, jamming on the parking brake and following her.

"Hey! Somebody untie me! Damn it!" Spike complained, and seeing that nobody was going to, kicked the front seat forward, and dragged himself over it, jumping out of the door Dawn had left open.

She was running around the twisted wreckage of Angel's car, screaming her sister's name. Riley and his men followed, spreading out around the area.

"BUFFY?!" Riley shouted.

"Angel? BUFFY?! Oh my God, where are they?" Dawn cried. Then, a few yards up, she spotted a heap of what looked like roadkill... wearing Angel's coat. She sprinted over, throwing herself to her knees beside him and gently turning him over.

He was badly beat up -- his face bruised and cut, and a gaping wound in his midsection.

"RILEY!" she screamed, then bent back to the unconscious vampire. "Angel... it's Dawn. Can you hear me?"

The vampire groaned. "B-buffy... they... took..." he coughed, blood bubbling up out of his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

In a moment, they were surrounded by soldiers, Riley and Spike both dropping down beside them.

"Oh, bloody Christ! Somebody fucking untie me!!!" Spike shouted, struggling against the chains.

"Angel... can you hear me? What happened? Where's Buffy?" Riley barked, shaking the injured man by the shoulders.

Dawn pulled Angel away from him, into her lap. "Leave him alone! Can't you see he's *hurt*?" She cradled her big friend gently, wiping the worst of the blood from his face. "Wake up... Angel, please..."

"Oh, bugger this," Spike mumbled, slipping into game face. With a roar, he snapped the chains that bound him and tossed them away, crawling closer, ignoring all the rifles that were instantly pointed at him. He gently pushed Dawn aside and took Angel into his arms.

"Turn your head, Little Bit," he commanded the girl softly. She complied, and the blond vampire quickly tore open his wrist with a fang and pressed the wound to Angel' s slack mouth.

Riley yanked the arm away. "What the Hell are you doing?"

Spike yanked back and replaced the torn appendage against his GrandSire's lips. "Vampire first aid, you moron. You want to find out what happened to Buffy, don't you?"

At that, Riley backed off and got to his feet. After a moment, Angel finally responded, taking hold of Spike's arm and sucking greedily from the wound. His eyes snapped open, and the younger demon pulled away, helping the elder to sit up.

Angel shook his head, and his human features returned, marred with both bruises and terror as he turned his eyes to his descendent.

"They took Buffy," he said softly.

"Who did? Who took Buffy?" Riley demanded.

The dark haired vampire's gaze slowly rose to where the soldier stood as Spike helped him stand. The look on Angel's face as he regarded Buffy's former lover made everyone present take an involuntary step backward, and before anyone could react, he tore out of his GrandChilde's arms, and sent the man flying with a bone-shattering punch.

Everyone froze as Riley crashed to the ground a few feet away, glaring up at his rival and clutching his obviously-broken nose. The rifles which had been trained on Spike a moment before whipped over to Angel.

"That was for disrespecting my mate," he spat, and turned his back on the fallen soldier to address Spike once more. "I don't know who hit us. It was a delivery truck... the markings were blacked out. I have to assume it was some of Glory's people... or Darla." He winced, clutching a hand to his gut.

The blond vampire started in surprise. "Wait. What? DARLA? Are you bloody well shittin' me?"

Angel shook his head. "She's here. I can feel her. Probably working with Lindsey."

"That's that lawyer Dru told me about."

"They're trying to take your soul..." Dawn murmured.

"Darla wants her mate back. Fuck," Spike added.

Angel nodded gravely.

Riley struggled to his feet, tamping down on the urge to shoot the tall vampire in the face. But... later was the time for a long-awaited grudge match. Now was the time for finding Buffy.

"Do you know where they would have taken her?" he asked, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve as he approached, motioning for the others to stand down.

"You're the one with all the stupid high tech gadgets. Don't you know?" Dawn cried.

"The high school," Angel replied. "Willy said they were opening the tunnels to the Master's old lair. It's the closest they can get to the Hellmouth." He turned to the other soldiers. "Get Dawn to Buffy's house. Now. Tell them what's happened. Spike, you're with me."

The blond nodded and fell into step beside him as they climbed into one of the soldiers' trucks.

Riley sprinted after them, grabbing Angel's arm. "Hey! What the Hell do you think you're doing?"

The vampire glanced down at the hand at his elbow, then gave the boy a cold glare. "You're going to want to move that hand, son," he informed Riley quietly.

"Like fuck I am!" Riley barked, "I'm going with you!"

"Don't be an idiot, Fishboy!" Spike interrupted, "Where we're going's no place for wussy little mortals. Do as the pouf says and bugger off to the others! Get Half Pint somewhere safe!"

Finn didn't move, still glaring up at Angel. The silent standoff went on for several moments, until the vampire shifted into game face once more and snarled at him.

"Get. Your. Hand. Off. Me," he repeated slowly, "Or I will *remove* it. Permanently."

The soldier automatically stepped back, and Angel jammed the truck into gear and sped off toward the high school.

Riley stood staring after them, rage boiling in his gut. Someday, he swore that he was going to make that vampire pay... for everything.

The other members of Riley's squad waited at attention for him to do something. Finally, he turned and looked at them. "You heard him! Get the girl and fall in! 1630 Revello Drive. Let's move it!"

The squad scattered, sprinting to climb into the remaining truck. Graham stopped.

"Uh... Ri?"

The blond soldier spun. "What?"

"The girl's gone."

Riley's heart stopped as he looked around. The place where Dawn had been standing just a moment before was empty.

"Oh, God."

***

Dawn fought to ignore the stitch in her side as she ran full speed away from the scene of the accident. For the millionth time in her life (which, she thought bitterly, never really happened at all), she wished fervently that she was the one with Slayer powers. She felt as if she was crawling across the mile or two that separated her from her sister.

It wasn't fair. Buffy never asked for any of this -- not to be the Slayer, not to have a sister... and especially not to have the Key to some demon dimension dumped on her. There was no way Dawn was going to let her die in her place.

Besides... without Buffy, she had nothing to live for anyway.

Dawn cut through yards and climbed over fences, and within a few minutes found herself at the outer wall of her destination. She climbed to the top and crouched low as she circled around, trying to find some way to get in.

The closer she got, the harder she had to struggle against the panic she could feel growing in her bones. There were hundreds of vampires everywhere, guarding the outside of the school. She couldn't remember ever seeing so many in one place before.

Finally, she decided she'd gone far enough, and jumped down right in front of one of the larger groups.

"HEY!" she shouted. Several demons turned and snarled at the girl. She planted her hands firmly on her hips and shot them a defiant glare.

"You looking for me?"

** 

Spike watched his GrandSire out of the corner of his vision as they sped toward the ruins of Sunnydale High. Angel kept an impassive mask, not betraying any of the pain, fear and rage Spike could scent coming off the elder vampire like he'd been rolling around in it, but the rest of his body might as well have been plastered with neon signs. He clutched the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers, his shoulders hunched right up around his ears, and every once in a while, he would wince in agony.

He'd known the old sod for a good, long time. Been through some fairly hairy stuff with the bugger, too... lynch mobs and vampire hunters, rival clans and sudden upsurges in religious fervor... Darla on a jealous rampage... but never in a few hundred years had he sensed the kind of pure terror that Angelus was giving off now.

Spike knew that fear intimately, of course. Thirty years ago in Prague, when that mob had gotten hold of Dru and put her through an old fashioned Witch Trial. It had taken he and his lackeys a good two days to find her, and they were, by far, the longest days of his unnaturally long life.

Well... excepting maybe those first months after Angelus disappeared in Romania...

He didn't think it was really sympathy he was feeling for the old goat. Maybe just some residual tension... but either way, he felt a strange compulsion to say something.

"We'll find her, Sire," he promised, using the old term of respect in a way that he hadn't since before electricity was invented.

"Yes. We will," Angel agreed flatly, not taking his eyes from the road.

Okay, so... apparently the poufter didn't want to have his enormous back patted. Fine by Spike. He sat back and lit up a smoke, and gave some thought to how he would feel if the Slayer bought it. He was already clear on his attitude toward the whole end of the world thing -- didn't like the idea one bit. Even though he couldn't hunt humans anymore, he was still fairly high up on the food chain. And like Willy had so aptly pointed out, being at the top was where he wanted to be. He didn't fancy shuffling his way back to the bottom at all. Presumably, without the Slayer, they probably wouldn't stand a chance against Glory. And once one big portal was opened to the other dimensions, no doubt a couple dozen others would quickly be unlocked, too. Before they knew it, they'd be swimming in a sea of nasty demons.

From a strictly professional standpoint, a dead Slayer was not a good thing.

And damn it, he still had a thing for the bitch. Still admired her fire and the fact that she could kick his arse straight into next month without even blinking. So... personally, he was forced to admit that he wasn't hot about the end of Buffy, either.

That topic settled and promptly dismissed, he focused on the promise of a ton of skull-knocking ahead, watching the road go by as they approached the driveway that led up to the school.

And the Hummer's engine abruptly died.

"What *now*?!" Angel snarled, cranking the key in the ignition and pumping the gas pedal in a futile attempt to restart the engine. He spit out a string of Gaelic Spike was fairly certain was some nasty curses, and jumped out of the truck, throwing open the hood and fiddling around inside.

"Be all you can be... buy Army," the younger vampire muttered, climbing out to join him. "Didn't know you were a mechanic too, Peaches."

"Shut up, Spike," Angel barked, and slammed the hood shut once more. "There's nothing wrong that I can see. The battery's fully charged."

Spike took a few steps forward from where he was standing, then came back. Walked a few feet away and repeated the action before he returned again.

"Magick, mate," he informed his GrandSire, "Hellbint's got wards all around this place."

Angel frowned and mimicked the exact test the blond had just completed. He could feel it, too -- a sort of electric humming over his skin when he stepped past a certain point in the road, which faded when he stepped back again. He glanced down at his watch, and found that it had stopped.

"You're right," he finally concurred. "It's some sort of anti-polarity field that interferes with electrical currents. We'll have to go the rest of the way on foot."

"Told you. What'd you think, I was lying?" Spike groused.

"Yes," Angel replied without hesitation. "I don't care how much you *seem* to care about Dawn. I will *never* trust you. Let's get that straight right now." He turned and marched off toward the west end of the school.

Spike followed. "Yeah, and I give a rat's arse what you think." He didn't bother to remind him that it was *his* blood that had snapped him back to consciousness earlier. What would be the point?

The two vampires made their way to the nearest manhole cover, which Angel opened and set aside. They jumped down into the tunnel, and the elder immediately began trekking to the west, following the slight tingle of the barrier as he went.

Angel remembered these underground passages well -- he'd used them countless times, shadowing Buffy while she was in school. Finally, they found their way to the electrical tunnels that ran around the perimeter of the building's subbasement, signaling their arrival at their destination -- the school proper.

He was surprised to find that the entrance to the catacombs that once held the Master's lair had been reopened. He crouched down near the opening, training his senses to detect anyone or anything that might be nearby, and getting nothing, turned to look up at his GrandChilde again.

"This is the way into the ruins. So why aren't there any guards?"

Spike shrugged. "Because it's a trap?"

Angel gave him a dark frown, but didn't reply, realizing that he was probably right. "There's nothing down there. Let's see how far we can get until that changes."

The two vampires crawled into the dark sub-tunnels, making their way progressively toward the center. Both could feel the increasing pull of the Hellmouth as they grew closer, their demons getting restless at the overwhelming surge in magick that coursed through the air.

Angel suddenly stopped short, causing Spike to run right into him.

"Look, I know you're discombobulated, mate, what with that canyon in your gut and all, but..."

"Sh," the elder vampire warned, nodding before them. "There's a threshold barrier here. It cuts off access to the rest of this tunnel. We'll have to double back to the last fork and find another way around."

They arrived at the last three-way crossroad they'd left and Angel immediately started down the northernmost passage. A few feet in, he stopped and turned back. "Take the tunnel to the East. Meet me back here in 15 minutes. If I don't come, go tell the others what we found," he commanded, and without waiting for a response, jogged off.

Spike watched him go, and then with a shrug, turned left and followed the Eastern corridor, reciting his shiny new ironic mantra:

"A live Slayer is a good Slayer."

***

The remaining members of Buffy and Angel's family were about to go out looking for their friends themselves when Riley arrived.

He didn't really wonder why no one looked glad to see him... even Xander. They probably already knew all the dirty details of his sins, and with Angel's re-acceptance into Buffy's life, had no reason to forgive him for what he'd done anyway. But he'd had months to work on shoving that pain aside, and managed to do it now as he explained to all the worried faces what had happened, speaking in the same formal manner he might if he were reporting to a superior officer.

"When we arrived on the scene, we found Angel lying a few feet away from the wreckage, and Buffy was gone. Angel and Spike went to follow, and... Dawn ran off. My men and I looked for her, but... she eluded us."

"You *lost* Dawn?" Anya yelped, "Wow. No wonder Buffy dumped you."

Xander gave her a look, but didn't say anything. No one else did either, but all the faces in the room seemed to drop even further at the news. Cordelia was the first to break the silence once again.

"Was Angel... I mean... did he look..."

Riley tried to give her a professionally reassuring smile, and not let his venom toward the vampire show. "He's fine." As he turned away, he involuntarily touched his swollen nose. Cordy noticed, and had to fight back a undignified grin. She had little doubt who had smashed his face in. That was as good a sign as any that Angel was okay. She might not be crazy about Buffy, but she liked this guy even less.

"They must be at the High School -- that's where Willy told Angel everything was happening," Willow offered.

"And... if you have a Key, and you want to open a door to Hell, then the Hellmouth's the place to do it," Xander sighed.

"We don't know that Glory has Dawn," Giles reminded them.

"In other words, we have an idea where they might be going, but no idea how to get close until Sunset," Wesley added.

Tara looked woefully at her watch. "Which is still 12 hours away." She glanced up at the others again. "We c-can't just sit here. We have to d-do something."

No sooner had she said it, then Kate, Gunn, and their teams crashed through the front door.

"They have Buffy!" Gunn announced, "There's some kind of barrier all around the old high school."

"We saw a bunch of vamps carrying her in. She looked pretty beat up," Kate added.

Hank reappeared from the kitchen. "Was she... alive?"

Gunn shrugged. "We couldn't get close enough to tell. They had her chained up pretty tight, though, so I'm thinking yeah."

"What kind of barrier was it?" Wesley asked.

"Sort of a force field thing," Kate explained, "But soft... it bounced back when we ran into it."

"Hm..." Giles commented, sorting through the boxes of books piled all over the living room. He snatched out one of the wider volumes, and leafed quickly through it. "Perhaps Glory is utilizing gravity itself to protect her borders."

"I don't know," the ex-cop admitted, "But what I *do* know is that we're not going to be able to get close unless we can get past that threshold."

"Guess I know how Angel feels now," Gunn grumped.

"Did Dawn know about the high school?" Riley asked.

Giles nodded. "Yes. We've left her out of nothing concerning this."

"Then I'd bet that's where she went... to try and rescue Buffy."

Hank looked from one of his daughters' friends to the other. "What are we going to do? We can't just leave them there."

Wesley placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We won't. And neither will Angel and Spike."

"I can't believe he just ran off by himself... *again*," Cordelia protested tearfully, "He should have waited for us."

"NONSENSE!" came a roar from the foyer as Carl and the other Forsaths returned, "A War Chief would not hesitate to lay down his life in service of his King... or... Slayer, in this case. And in addition, she is the vampire's mate. It is his sworn duty to protect her, no matter the personal cost!"

Hank's face instantly returned to its earlier state of ashen shock. "V-vampire... Buffy's boyfriend... is a vampire?"

Cordy patted him sympathetically. "It's okay. He has a soul."

"Oh," Hank commented absently, "That's... good, then...right?"

"You say the Abomination has built a barrier around her nest," Carl commented, "We will assist the Witches in finding a spell to break it. Come!" He waved a paw at Willow and Tara, who followed him back into the dining room.

Anya finally spoke up. "Even if we can break the force field thingy, how are we going to get inside? I mean... she must have guards, right? And more magick?"

"She'll certainly be expecting us to make some rescue attempt," Wesley agreed.

"What we need is a miracle," Cordy sighed.

"Well, I don't know if I qualify, but... another Slayer can't hurt," came a voice from the hall, "Usually."

All eyes turned to watch Faith enter.

"Is there anybody else we're missing? I don't know... Jonathan, maybe? Or that girl that sat behind me in homeroom freshman year?" Xander quipped, "This is starting to feel like '90210' or something."

Kate stepped forward and hugged the secondary Slayer as everyone else looked on in varying degrees of confusion or stunned shock. The ex-cop turned to grin at them.

"I pulled some strings. Thought she might come in handy," she declared.

"Damn! You know, for somebody who got canned from the force, you sure got a lotta strings," Gunn commented.

"Hey... why don't we stop praying for miracles, and start kicking some Hellbitch ass!" Faith shouted, punching her hands together. "I'm only out on a weekend pass."

"Oh, good lord," Wesley moaned.

"So... somebody fill me in on the big plan," the brunette demanded as she dropped to sit on the floor, looking around. "Where's Angel?"

The others exchanged a pained glance.


	29. Chapter 29

Angel almost wished he'd brought Spike with him as he followed the passage deeper into the catacombs, searching for some break in the threshold barrier that kept him from reaching Buffy. Having someone to talk to -- and maybe beat on a little -- would be a welcome distraction. He needed one desperately, right now... the last thing he could handle was being alone with the riot of thought and emotion that coursed through him. Not to mention the pain of the thrice re-opened sword wound Darla had inflicted.

He kept the demon to the fore, taking advantage of the sharper senses and additional strength to push him on -- even with the power of family blood, he was still badly wounded and thoroughly exhausted, his sheer terror and worry draining him further.

It didn't help to recognize that without Buffy's blood in his system, he may never have even made it this far.

He had to find her -- for once, monster and soul were in full agreement. They also agreed on the fate of whoever had taken her:

Slow, painful, bloody death. Angel didn't care if all the Gods from every dimension were responsible... or if it had been only Lindsey, or the entire Law Firm. And if it was Darla...

One way or another, he would make them pay.

He didn't bother wasting energy trying to keep the rage in check. The drive to hunt and kill pushed aside the worst of his crippling guilt and fear. Helped him block the visions of Buffy lying wounded in the wreckage of his car... bleeding... dying... being sacrificed in some unholy ritual...

He snarled to himself, letting the bloodlust fill him. *Nothing* would happen to his mate, if it meant he would have to destroy every living or unliving thing in Sunnydale to save her.

Angel kept his extra senses wide open, tracking the flow of magick that continued to block him from turning toward the center of the catacombs, while paying close attention to his internal alarms for any signal of something nearby... including the Slayer. He almost hoped he would run into something... something he could rend limb from limb until it revealed where they were hiding her.

He was still coated in the stench of her blood... his clothes were soaked with it. So much that if Buffy wasn't the Chosen One, there was no doubt in his mind that she would have already been dead.

That was one line of thought he stopped cold. She was *not* dead. He would know it if she were. And as long as he had a single ounce of strength in his body--no...so long as he wasn't *dust* -- she would *not* die.

He jumped half out of his skin when his cell trilled -- he'd forgotten he was even carrying it.

"Angel," he answered. It was a bizarre sensation, being in full demon mode and using such modern technology -- one of the many tiny ironies of his existence.

No response came from the other line for a moment.

"Hello? Cordelia?"

"Angel, help us!" Dawn sobbed, "Please! She's got us and..."

He froze in his tracks as the girl's voice faded away, and another took its place... a voice that sent chills rocketing up and down his spine.

"Hello, dear boy..." Darla purred, "How've you been?"

***

"I feel like Charlie Sheen in 'Red Dawn', " Xander commented as he crouched with the others in the dense woods outside the west entrance (or at least, what *used* to be the west entrance) of the high school.

"He died, you know," Faith reminded him.

"Yeah, I know," he replied, "That's sort of the point... hopelessly outnumbered, outgunned, and... I guess in our case, out-magicked..."

It had taken nearly 6 hours to get their plan together and moving. Riley, Gunn, Faith and Kate ended up being elected leaders of the four divisions of foot soldiers, while Giles and Wesley divided the magickal and 'auxiliary' groups between them. There had been a great deal of arguing back at the house regarding who was to go where, with whom, and to do what (with pretty much everyone demanding to be allowed to directly help rescue Buffy and Dawn), and in some instances, their members were forced to draw straws to determine their job. In the end, Cordelia was divested of her beloved axe and made auxiliary, Xander was compelled to take orders from Faith, and Carl was forbidden, under any circumstances, to eat his opponents after he killed them in order to gain the strength and valor of their spirit. Actually, that particular decree didn't require any straw-drawing at all.

It could be worse, Xander supposed. All things considered... they were pretty well screwed. There were more demons stepping outside the school building to have a *smoke* than all their numbers put together, and he would bet--Hell, he would bet his *girlfriend*--that there were twice as many that they *couldn't* see. Looking around at their weird little army, he started thinking that he really would rather be one of the rebels in 'Red Dawn'-- at least that way, he'd only get shot and left for the vultures to snack on, instead of having his soul ripped out and sent off for an eternal vacation full of fun and brimstone in Hell.

But... they had guns. They had magick. They had a demon who looked like something straight from a Disney movie. And they had a plan... sort of. He reminded himself that they also had God, or the Powers, or whatever, on their side. That had to count for something, right?

Tara and Willow began emptying the bag they held between them, handing each of the group leaders a bottle filled with sparkling purple powder.

"Okay," the redhead explained, "This powder will expose the exact position of the barrier." She handed them each a small piece of paper, and went on. "When you get to your entry point, sprinkle the powder and say the incantation on your cards... I spelled it out phonetically for you. That'll break the line of the magick and give you a few seconds... ten, tops... to get through. I'd go one at a time, two at the most. Then hand the stuff back to the people behind you. You'll have to wait at least 20 minutes for the field to stabilize again before you can recast. Whatever you do, don't get stuck in the field when it's in flux."

"How'll we know it's in flux?" Gunn asked.

"It'll be glowing p-purple," Tara explained, "If you do..."

"Poof?" Cordy guessed.

Willow nodded. "Zap and poof. The flux short circuits the magick and turns it into really high voltage electricity."

"The rest of us will attempt to break the inner wards," Giles told them, "According to what Carl has told us, there will be a noticeable change in the quality of the air when the inner barriers open. You each have a copy of the map that Angel and Spike drew for us. Follow the tunnels marked in red to your destination -- the cavern at the center, here. This is where the Hellmouth proper is located."

"It'll probably take us most of the day to get down the inside barrier," Willow went on, "And *don't* go into the cavern until we give you the signal -- we don't know for sure what spells she'll be using down there... but I can guess that they'll be pretty powerful. We need to wait until after sunset, when she'll be at her weakest."

"Sunset's still eight hours away," Kate interrupted, "What are we supposed to do until then?"

Tara shrugged. "K-kill as many of the guards as you can without attracting too much attention, or getting hurt."

"When the sun has set, and we believe we've released the inner defenses, we will give you the signal, and then we'll join you to cast the final spells." Giles informed them. "Be certain that your beeper things are set to vibrate, not ring."

As the soldiers complied, Faith grumbled, "Damn. I wish there was a faster way to get into this. I've been sitting still for a long time... kinda in the mood for some action."

"There's lots of vampires to kill," Anya assured her.

"All right, enough chatter," Wesley cut in, "We must follow the timetable as precisely as possible for our plan to be successful. And needless to say... if you are able to locate any of the others..."

"Save them," Cordelia pleaded.

"And inform them of our plans. Ultimately, when we cast the final spell to close the rift in the ethereal, Glory must be inside it," Giles reminded them. "Destroying her and saving Dawn must be our first priorities."

"What about Buffy?" Hank asked, after having remained quiet through most of their journey.

"Buffy would understand," Giles said sadly, "And agree. We can only hope that Angel and Spike are able to get to her."

"I wonder how they're doing," Kate thought aloud.

***

"Darla," Angel spat.

The vampiress chuckled softly. "You didn't really think I would go away just because you ordered me to, did you?"

He wouldn't admit as much to her, but... that was exactly what he had been hoping. Although he hadn't given the matter much explicit thought since his return to his mission, his (very human, he realized) assumption had been that after their last encounter, Darla would realize that her cause was lost, and crawl off with her tail between her legs.

He should have known better.

"Let her go," he demanded. "She's just a child. This is between you and I."

Again she laughed. "Oh, Angelus, my sweet... you are a never-ending source of amusement to me. Still so naive after all these years. I'm so looking forward to your company again."

He resisted the urge to snarl at her -- cool had to be the order of the day for this interaction. If his Sire was involved with Glory, and they had Dawn... he would need to figure out where... and how to get her back.

"You presume an awful lot, Darla. I'm not really interested in spending any more time with you."

As he spoke, he tried to focus his concentration on the blood bond which had first alerted him to her arrival... the sensations were dulled, making it difficult to pinpoint how close she might be. He suspected the wards must have had something to do with that.

"Oh, but you will, my love... You see, I have a proposition for you."

This time it was Angel's turn to laugh. "A proposition? Do you honestly believe that I would make any bargain with you? I'm not that naive."

"Hm. Well, would it make a difference if I told you that I've collected your little cheerleader, as well? And I must say... she's looking a little... pale. I think maybe I was too rough on her."

Angel felt his stomach knot in renewed terror.

"To be honest, I'm surprised that it was so easy to take her, Angelus. I would have thought, what with the two of you being bonded and all, that you'd guard her a bit more carefully. Although... I suppose your unconsciousness gives you a bit of an excuse. I do wish I could have been there myself... if only to see the look on your face when you realized that you failed to protect her. But... I digress. We were discussing a summit. I prefer to meet face to face, don't you?"

Angel took a deep breath, refusing to let her goad him into a reaction. She was still a master manipulator... knowing exactly how to push his most sensitive buttons. "Why should I believe you? You seem to hold all the cards here, Darla... why would you want to make any bargain at all?"

She sighed. "Oh, my sweet... I don't have *everything* that I want. In fact... the one thing I actually expect to gain from this whole... unsavory situation... I can get only from you. Though I've no doubt you would find your way to your little girlfriend sooner or later... this way, you might actually find her *alive*. So... What do you say? Shall we talk? Or shall I just hand both the Summers girls over to Glory?"

He closed his eyes. "No. We'll meet. Where?"

"Excellent decision, darling... Perhaps you're not as idiotically noble as I've always assumed. Look above you."

Angel looked up at the jagged roof of the cavern.

"I assume that you've taken the North passage. See that pattern of stalagmites in the ceiling? Keep following them. After a mile or so, the mineral deposits begin to glow a deep purple as you reach the center. Once that begins to happen, you'll find a small cave off the main walk immediately to the right. Meet me there in ten minutes, and we'll see if we can't come to some... mutually beneficial arrangement, hm?"

The only arrangement Angel's inner demon was interested in was seeing this bitch's *final* Final Death. Sire or no, she had taken his mate, and for that alone she had to die.

Angel forced himself to breathe again, shoving against his baser instincts. He in no way disagreed with them, but he also knew that brute force wasn't going to save Buffy. Let Darla take another shot at winning her Childe back -- he would never let her win.

"I'll be there," he finally replied, snapped the cell shut, and sprinted full-speed in the opposite direction.

Before he went to meet what might be his own final end, he had another rendezvous to make first.


	30. Chapter 30

((Okay, so... maybe this wasn't such a good idea.))

Dawn twisted her arms around in the manacles, despite the fact that she'd already pretty much proven to herself that she couldn't break them. The guys in suits that stood around the room were giving her a wig... way worse creeps than the vampires and demons assigned to watch her.

But the biggest creep of all was the blue-eyed one who sat staring at her as he slowly sipped a glass of wine.

"What are you gawking at?" she snapped at him.

The expensively dressed man rose languidly from the easy chair he'd occupied since Dawn was brought into the chamber, setting down his glass and ambling toward her, wearing what she could swear was meant to be a friendly smile. When he got a couple of feet away, he stopped, as if he was afraid to come any closer.

"I'm still trying to digest the fact that you are currently the most important human being in the universe," he informed her with a little shake of his head. "Hard to believe. Although... if you'd have told me there was such a thing as a vampire with a soul a couple of years ago, I probably would have laughed at that, too. One thing I' ve learned from all of this Angel business -- anything is possible."

Dawn frowned, but said nothing, turning her head so she wouldn't have to look at the jerk from Wolfram & Hart. He, however, didn't move. Just stood there, staring at her like she was a painting on the wall or something. Then the lawyer suddenly turned away.

"Everyone out," he commanded the other suits and demons with a wave of his hand.

"But... Mr. McDonald," one of the suits objected, "The client said..."

"Forget the client!" Blue-eyes barked, "I want to speak to Miss Summers alone."

With a reluctant nod, the lawyers and demons shuffled out of the room. Dawn watched them go, thinking that the two sets of creatures didn't really seem that much different.

Once the others were gone, Lindsey turned to look at the little girl once more. He didn't feel the same guilt as the last time he'd had a child in this sort of situation -- after all, she wasn't really human at all... and besides, his orders from the senior partners were to make sure Dawn Summers *didn't* get sacrificed.

She refused to look at him. Not that he blamed her -- if he were in her position, he wouldn't be too crazy about him, either.

"So, Dawn... it's just you and me, now. I thought maybe we could get to know each other a little better." He gently reached over her head and unlocked the chains from the ring on the way, allowing the girl to let her arms down. He offered a hand. "I'm Lindsey."

The Slayer's sister glared at him and walked away, circling the room slowly.

"You won't be able to escape," he informed her, "There's not really any doors to speak of, and I'm sure there are guards right outside. So... you might as well relax and have a seat. Are you hungry?"

She was, but no way was Dawn going to admit it to this jerk. She didn't bother to reply, just sunk down in the nearest chair and stared at the floor. Buffy would get her out of this -- she didn't doubt it for a second. And even if she couldn't... Angel and the others wouldn't let her die.

That still didn't make her want to kick herself any less. What exactly did she think she could accomplish by coming here alone?

"You're not in a talking mood. That's okay," Lindsey relented, reclaiming his glass of wine and his seat. "I'll let you in on a little secret that I bet will make you feel a lot better. We at Wolfram & Hart aren't interested in letting Glory open the gates of her dimension. Our goals are a lot simpler than that. If we have anything to say about it --and we do-- you'll walk out of here in one..."

Before he finished his statement, the doorway reappeared, and Glory flounced in, trailed by several of her ugly lackeys. When the goddess saw Dawn sitting in the chair, her happy smile evaporated.

"Hey! What are you doing with my key?" she complained, and with a wave of her hand, Dawn found herself instantly chained to the wall once more. Glory turned her fury on Lindsey. "Listen here, lawyer-boy. That is *my* key. And it's *not* a pet, or a toy. I don't want her roaming free!"

Lindsey's cool expression didn't shift. "I didn't see any harm in making her comfortable."

Glory snorted and plunked down in the chair recently vacated by Dawn. Her minions immediately swarmed around her, fussing with her hair, nails and make-up. "Well... you work for me, Lindsey. And as soon as Darla collects your fee, I'll expect all of you to go away and leave *my* key to *me*. It's not like she's real or anything anyway."

Dawn bit her lip to keep from crying, fighting to tune out Glory's continued babbling about how she was her property to begin with, and that she was stolen. How she was fully within her rights to make her as uncomfortable and unhappy as she pleased for giving her so much trouble.

Instead, she tried to focus on what the lawyer... Lindsey... had started telling her. Sure, she probably couldn't trust him, but... she had to take whatever hope she could get right now, and poured all of her remaining energy into wishing he would take whatever it was he came for, and let her and Buffy go.

***

Angel reached the crossroad to find Spike already there, pacing furiously and smoking as he waited. When the blond felt his GrandSire's approach, he practically jumped on him.

"Christ, Angelus! I was startin' think they got you too!"

Angel would have smiled if things weren't so dire. Spike's obvious concern reminded him of long ago days, when the younger vampire followed him around like a puppy, hanging on his every word as if it were some kind of unholy gospel.

He shook the thought away. He wasn't Angelus, he was not looking at Will, and time was running out to save Dawn and Buffy.

"Your concern is touching. Listen, I don't have much time," he explained, "Follow me, and I'll explain the plan on the way."

Spike regarded him warily for a moment, then finally followed. Truth be told, he didn 't trust his GrandSire any more than the old bastard trusted him. He wasn't, after all, the most balanced or reliable bloke on the planet. But... when it came to the safety of Dawn and the Slayer, there wasn't a sliver of a doubt in his mind that the souled ponce wouldn't pull any punches. Besides -- do-gooding was his specialty. If anybody could cook up a plan that would save the world, it would be him.

The elder vampire forged through the Northern tunnel, not glancing back at Spike at all, only looking up at the ceiling now and then as he explained what was happening.

"I was right about Darla being involved in this. She wants to make a deal."

Spike stopped. "A *deal*? And you *believe* her? What are you, nuts?"

His GrandSire turned a dangerous glare on him that suggested, yes, he was indeed only a half-step away from losing his marbles entirely.

"I don't see that we have much choice," Angel replied as he moved on. They jogged for a few hundred years until he suddenly stopped. "This is it," he announced, and stepped back from the intersection, pushing Spike backward around the last turn they' d taken. "Stay here, but pay attention. Darla is supposed to meet me here in a minute. I think there's some sort of entrance to the catacombs up ahead. I want you to take note of whatever she does to break the barrier, then go back and tell the others exactly what you saw." The elder vampire glanced down at his watch, and sighed to remember that it had stopped hours ago. "They should be getting ready to make a move soon. Find them."

Spike found to his chagrin that his old nemesis' demeanor was making him increasingly nervous. Talking like he was actually going to *go* somewhere with the old hag.

"What about you? Where the Hell are you going?"

Angel met his gaze and the determined fury burning in his dark eyes almost made the younger demon shiver.

"I'm going to work from the inside," he declared, his voice low with vengeful anger. "It's time someone puts an end to this once and for all. So do as I say. Tell the others how I got in -- hopefully, they can use it."

Spike didn't see any real purpose in arguing, so he just nodded. Angel began to walk back toward the fork, but stopped suddenly and turned again, grabbing Spike roughly by the arms.

"Spike, I need you to promise me something before I go."

The blond started. "Why the fuck would I..."

Angel cut him off. "Just listen! I don't have time to explain. When you come back at nightfall to stop the ritual... if I'm acting strangely, you have to destroy me."

More shock. "What? Strangely? When the fuck *don't* you act strangely? You've got a *soul*, for chrissake!"

His GrandSire gave him a violent shake. "They're going to try to *take* my soul. If you can sense they've succeeded, you *have* to kill me. Don't make Buffy do it. I know you hate me, and that's fine... but I also know that you care about her... in your own twisted way."

"Hey!" Spike objected, yanking out of the larger man's grasp.

Angel's eyes were painfully sad. "Promise me, Will. For her sake. Make sure she and Dawn get out safely, and then destroy me."

Spike searched his face, and felt a pang of... something... he couldn't identify (and probably didn't want to) to see that he meant it.

"You're serious," he muttered, "You're gonna give up your soul to save the Slayer. That's the deal you're making with Darla."

Angel looked away. "I don't know yet, but I suspect that's what she'll suggest. It's a last resort, but if that's the only way to save Buffy..."

Spike took an involuntary step back in his shock. "Son of a whore! You're a bigger demon than I am, mate! I wouldn't give up my *lunch* to save that bitch!"

He gave the blond a bitter half-smile. "I don't think that's true. Do you swear?"

Spike stared at him for a while, giving the idea some thought, then shrugged. "Sure, okay. I swear. I owe that nutter bastard one anyway."

The elder vampire held his gaze for a few moments, as though searching for some proof of his sincerity. Seemingly satisfied, he turned away and walked back toward the crossroads again. "Good. Because if you don't, you can be fairly certain you won't live long. Most of me still wants nothing more than to see you dust," he tossed over his shoulder. "Don't follow me all the way, but get as close as you can."

Spike pondered the true depths of his GrandSire's stupidity for a second or two, and then followed.

After all, a chance to kill Angelus wasn't anything to scoff at. It was worth putting his immortal hide on the line for that alone.


	31. Chapter 31

The first thing Buffy noticed as she regained consciousness was the dripping. Like a leaky faucet, the slow "plink...plink" exploded like dynamite inside her aching skull. For the moment before she managed to force her eyes open, she thought maybe she was having that Darla nightmare again.

But when she managed to focus her fuzzy vision on the scene before her and saw the dank cavern... smelled the must and stagnant water, felt the chains binding her to the wall and found herself looking into the cool azure gaze of the bitch herself, she realized...

She wasn't dreaming the Darla dream -- she was living it. The only thing missing was the nice, bloodthirsty game of Battleship.

The two women stared at one another in pointed silence for a few moments, until Buffy finally broke it.

"Do I have something on my face?" she coughed, and wondered... she hurt, but... considering theliteral 'getting hit by a Mack truck' she vaguely remembered, she should probably hurt a *lot* more.

((Oh God, Angel...))

She couldn't recall much of anything after the truck hit them. Had he made it out okay? Where was he? Now that she thought about it... where was *she*? And why was Darla here at all?

The vampiress smiled -- a frigid, hateful expression that made Buffy surprised that she hadn't woken up dead.

"Actually, while you were... resting, I was trying to figure out what it is about you that makes you the Bringer of Perfect Happiness for that pathetic thing wearing the shell of my mate." She got up and slinked back and forth in front of Buffy, making certain to flaunt her considerable assets, which were sensuously highlighted by the skin tight cream leather suit she wore. "Really. I mean... let's take stock, shall we? You're not terribly intelligent. You've never been anywhere or done anything of any true interest. You're not mysterious, and frankly," Darla let her gaze roam up and down Buffy's form with an expression of disdain. "I've seen famine victims with more meat on their bones. So I'm left at a loss. What is your secret?"

Buffy forced a saccharine sweet smile. "I'm not a psychotic, bloodsucking whore?"

The vampire laughed, full and hearty. "Bravado! That *is* charming. But still... not nearly interesting enough to capture the black heart of the Scourge of Europe, I don' t think."

The Slayer's blood immediately kicked up in defensive anger on Angel's behalf. "His heart is *not* black. It's good, just like his soul."

Darla grinned, halting her pacing to face Buffy squarely. "Really. Oh, little girl, how very simple-minded you are! It's all black and white to you, isn't it? The soul is good, the demon is bad. That's the only way you can bear to look into his eyes...the only way you can let him touch you without your skin trying to crawl right off your bones. Well, dearie..." She took a few steps closer. "Let me be the first to burst your happy, rose-colored bubble, and inform you that you don't have the first *clue* what goes on inside my boy. You screw him a couple of times, send him to Hell, he quotes you a few lines of poetry, you exchange a little blood, and you think you' ve found eternal love?" The vampiress chuckled coldly as she wandered away once more, reclaiming her seat and crossing her elegant legs. "Do you know what your unsullied soulmate's fondest recurring dream is, Buffy?"

She said nothing, merely holding the vampire's gaze with all the fury she could muster. Which was quite a lot, right now.

"I didn't think so," Darla went on, "But I do. When we first started... spending time together again, he told me all about it. It's more common than all those stupid dreams of sunshine and heartbeats. It's capturing you... ripping all your clothes off and fucking you into the floor, then sinking his fangs into your hot, butter-soft flesh and drinking you down until he can feel that little hero's heart slow. Then, he opens one of his own veins and... well, let's just say... the *climax* of his dream involves you sealing your sweet lips over that wound... and when you rise once more? Angel likes to chain you up and school you in the fine art of demon S & M. Oh, no... not black-hearted at all."

Her words stung Buffy as though she'd been struck, but she fought to maintain her poker face. No way was she going to let this bitch know she was getting to her. Besides, she shouldn't have been all that surprised... Angel did have one of the most sadistic, evil demons in history sharing space with his beautiful soul, after all. But hearing his Sire say it aloud... and to realize that Angel had been the one to tell her about it, shattered her already battered heart.

Maybe Darla was right. Hadn't she been thinking just a little while ago how little she knew about her lover?

"That, you see, Slayer, is why you could never be a fit mate for Angelus. You can't accept that under that shiny white knight facade you so adore, lives a being of pure malice... unadulterated evil. Malfeasance the likes of which you can't even *begin* to imagine. I wonder -- do you love the insane butcher? The shell that raped nuns and disemboweled children for the sheer pleasure of listening to them scream? That carved curses in the flesh of innocents simply because it was *fun*?"

Darla watched with glee as her words sunk in. Of course the little strumpet knew... how could she not, being the Chosen One? She was trying so hard not to look hurt... not to show her fear and uncertainty... that underlying realization that every word she was saying was true. If she could get the Slayer to push Angelus away, the rest of her job would be so much simpler...

"Of course you don't! It's not in your nature to love such a fiend!" Darla answered her own question vehemently. "But I, on the other hand, do. And have, I might add, for several hundred years. I adore that blood-soaked arch-villain he keeps chained so tightly inside. And when he is finally free... " She sighed blissfully. "Well... the irony is that he will more than likely want to kill you more than ever."

Buffy finally swallowed the worst of her pain, and met the vampire's frigid sapphire gaze straight on. "He'll never give in to you. He'd die first."

Darla rose from her seat once more, her delicate features contorting into demon form as she approached where Buffy hung, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. Buffy shuddered in spite of herself as she felt the icy breath of her lover's maker on the fine hairs of her throat.

"Oh... I think he can be convinced," she whispered.

The Slayer's screams echoed through the catacombs as the vampire sank her fangs into her neck.

***

Despite the fact that his watch had stopped, Angel was painfully aware that he had been waiting in the cavern for a great deal longer than ten minutes.

He paced back and forth, peeking around the corner every once in a while to make sure that Spike was still there. And to his surprise each time, he was. Some introspective part of him had to wonder -- was Buffy right in her estimation that his GrandChilde was changing his ways? There really wasn't any way for him to profit directly from helping in this situation, beyond the vague reward of assuring the world didn't come to an end.

Angel shook the thought away. He couldn't waste energy pondering philosophical abstractions right now. He needed to get past the barrier and find Buffy. The longer they were apart, the worse he imagined her pain being, and the more he wondered -- where was she? What was Darla doing to her?

At least he could take some small comfort in the knowledge that Dawn was safe... for now. Glory needed her strong and healthy in order for the ritual to work. Carl, the lion-headed demon, had confirmed the Watchers' Council information that the Key was useless if it was damaged in any way.

So he told himself that he would have the opportunity to rescue both Dawn and Buffy, and get them the Hell out of here. All he had to do was wait until his Sire let him through the wards...

Part of him wished that he had more time to show Darla the true depths of his appreciation for all these months of torture... for all the pain she had caused his friends... and now this. But then... another part still balked at the idea of killing her, as well. It wasn't her fault that she had fallen victim to the depraved machinations of Wolfram & Hart. Not that she had been an innocent by any stretch of the imagination to begin with, but still... She had a soul, for a little while... an opportunity to make things right, and had it stolen from her. If anybody should be made to pay, it was Lindsey.

He took a deep breath and fought to clear his thoughts yet again. This was exactly why Darla left him waiting. She knew full well that his mind would be running in endless circles, obsessing over all the many troubles he was facing. She knew that eventually, he would work himself into a frenzy, and would then be that much slower to react... that much less alert and ready to take advantage of the first opportunity that presented itself to destroy her and be done with it, once and for all. And that much more open to whatever insanity she was going to suggest.

He also knew that the small chance he required would not come easily... or cheap, even if he was fully prepared. And odds were good that he would be given no opportunity at all.

Darla wanted his soul. Angel didn't believe for one moment that she cared about Glory or Dawn, Lindsey, or Buffy. She wanted one thing, and one thing only:

Him.

And if he had to surrender himself in order to free his lover, he would do it. He only prayed to the Powers that it would never come to that.

His Sire's arrival washed over him like a cold wave, making his stomach lurch queasily, and his entire body go completely taught with tension. Angel watched Darla approach, noting her pitifully small band of guards. No doubt she automatically assumed that he would hear her out, and was cocky enough to think she wouldn't need any more protection than that.

She was about to find out how wrong she was. He forced his posture to relax, and waited.

Seeing her... her certain carriage... her proud demeanor... Angel had forgotten how beautiful she was... lovely and deadly... attractive in a way that only the finest predator ever was. And once upon a time, they had both been such predators. Luring hapless victims with sensual smiles... driving them to almost welcome horrible death, if only for a chance to touch such magnificent beauty for a moment...

And the last time he was with her... writhing and crying out beneath him... her shock at his retention of his soul and his cold dismissal of her after their tryst...

Seeing Darla again brought the past six months crashing right back down onto his heart.

When she approached, she appeared to be walking right through the cavern wall, and as she did, the rock vanished, revealing a long, dimly lit passageway behind her.

The sheer power it must require to guard this place frightened Angel almost as much as anything else.

Darla stopped when she was directly on the other side of the barrier from him, and gave a chilly smile.

"Hello, Angelus. How nice to see you again," she purred. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

Angel wasn't wasting any time with pleasantries. "Cut to the chase. What do you want?"

Her feral smile grew, but managed not to get any warmer. "Now is that any way to greet your lover?"

"Lover is the *last* thing I would call you, Darla."

Her smile vanished instantly, then reappeared almost as quickly. "Maybe not now, but you will. Shall we sit and discuss this like adults, or are you going to try something stupid?"

He said nothing. His Sire waited for a moment, and taking his silence as acquiescence, said a single word in some language Angel didn't recognize, releasing the barrier. When the pressure between them dissipated and he took a step toward her, he realized with a start that she too smelled like Buffy's blood. His hackles immediately rose, and he shifted to demon face, snarling.

"Oh, don't worry, my boy... I only had a little taste," she chuckled, licking her lips, "After all, she's not much good to anyone dead, is she?"

Angel shook with barely restrained fury, this final insult simply too much for his already raw nerves. Darla was terribly amused by how obviously shaken he was, and leaned in close to leer at him.

"She was sweet, too. No wonder you like her so much."

Angel felt the last threads of his control disintegrate, and barely registered the objection of his conscious mind as he rushed her, knocking her back into the wall with an enraged roar.

Darla laughed as her guards calmly stepped forward, pulling Angel off and jolting him with cattle prods each one carried until he fell to the ground, unconscious.

She gave his twitching form a swift kick to the ribs, and snorted. "You're so damn predictable. I wonder sometimes why I bother with you at all." She stepped over her Childe's prone body and headed back the way they'd just come. "Tie him up and bring him to the chamber," she tossed over her shoulder.

Time for the fun to begin.

***

Spike practically had to nail himself to the floor to keep from rushing to Angel's aid. But he held back -- there were too many things at stake now to put it all on the line for that fucker when he didn't really give a damn about him, anyway.

Or so he told himself as he turned tail and ran back toward the entrance of the catacombs, where he didn't know what the Hell he would do next, as it was long past daybreak, and he doubted any of the Scooby Gang would be conveniently waiting for him at the sunlit entrance to the tunnel. He'd have to duck and cover -- make a run for the caves in the nearby woods, and plan from there.

In spite of his better judgment, Spike felt like an utter pansy just standing there while that bitch took his GrandSire away. Sure he was a sanctimonious idiot -- but he was still blood, and to see one member of his family take another down like that and do nothing about it filled him with a fledgling's terror and rage. Like a newly risen demon that didn't understand the rules of the game or know how to play, but still was drawn by instinct to defend the vamp that raised him. Total confusion the likes of which he hadn't felt in... well, a while, anyway.

Truth be told, it might be Dru's blood that ran in his veins, but it was Angelus himself who had been his true Sire. And despite all the ugliness that had passed between them over the years, he could still remember all the times that Angel had saved his hide, too.

Now the bastard was about to get de-souled--again--and he had bound himself by some god-forsaken sense of duty to stake the son of a whore the next time he saw him. Not that it was a totally unattractive idea...

But before that, they had to save the world. Spike closed down the shutters of his mind and ignored the demon's screaming inside him as he tore full speed toward the daylight, repeating the word Darla had spoken to open the wards to himself over and over again.


	32. Chapter 32

"It's not working," Willow sighed, sinking down in the grass. "I don't think I can raise power like this. The wards are like a magick vacuum."

Her lover dropped down beside her, and took her hand. "We'll just rest for a while and try again. The closer we get to sunset, the easier it'll be."

Cordelia paced restlessly back and forth a few feet away. She hated being useless -- it wasn't an experience she'd had in along time. No one would let her fight, and she couldn't do magick... so all she was doing was taking up space. She'd tried to call Angel's cell phone every five minutes for the first hour or two they were out here, but naturally there was no answer. Giles, Wesley and Carl had gone with a couple of the Forsaths to the South Side of the school to do the same spells that Willow and Tara were casting here. The rest of the gang had been divided up, given weapons, and sent to their assigned places on the map. So she'd been standing around doing absolutely *nothing* for hours, now.

She was tempted to tell Giles to stuff his plan, grab her axe, and take on the whole Glory faction herself. Which was, of course, a really stupid idea.

Gunn and two of his men stood guard nearby, keeping their eyes on the daytime minions that milled around just outside the building. Gunn noticed Cordy's pacing and turned to approach her.

"Hey. You know, you're gonna do Glory's job for her and wear a hole right to Hell if you don't quit that."

Cordy stopped and frowned up at him. "I can't just *stand* here all day. What if they 're all dead? What if Glory got Angel, too? What if they took his soul? What if..."

Gunn grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. "He's not dead. I mean... he *is* dead, but... not dead-dead. We've only got a few more hours to wait. We'll get to him."

The brunette nodded wearily. "I know... it's just..." She trailed off and plopped down in the grass, tucking her knees in her arms. "I couldn't stand it if anything happened to him now, after he's survived so much. And we're all just putting things back together..."

He sat down beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "Our boy's tough, Delie, you know that. He won't give up until the job's done. Especially when the world's at stake."

Cordy snorted bitterly, snuggling closer into his shoulder. "Especially not when *Buffy's* at stake, you mean."

Gunn cocked an eyebrow at her tone. "What's up with that, anyway? She's cute and all, but..."

The seer shrugged. "Who knows? They've got this whole forbidden love soulmate bond thing going, I guess. I mean... I always thought he could do a *lot* better, myself, but... they have a history..."

"I got that much." Her friend didn't look like she'd made it any clearer. "Is it true she sent him to Hell? Soul and all?"

Cordy nodded. "Yup. She had to send him to Hell because of the Flimsy Soul Loophole... and then when he came back, she nursed him back to health. Then he broke up with her, and got shot with a poison arrow -- by Faith, no less -- and Buffy had to let Angel feed off her to save him. Then he moved to LA and hired me."

"Man," Gunn commented.

"Yeah, and that's like the Cliff's Notes of the Cliff's Notes version of the Buffy and Angel Saga."

"Sounds like an *awful* lot of baggage, to me."

"Well, you know Angel... King of Baggage."

Gunn chuckled. "That he is."

"He always says she's the reason he started fighting evil... that he owes her everything," the brunette sighed. "I don't know... who can ever understand love?"

Gunn tilted his head down to look into her eyes. "Not me," he confessed, and kissed her softly.

***

Angel opened his eyes, expecting to find himself chained in the darkest depths of the caverns under the high school.

Instead, he was unbound, his wounds treated and bandaged, and lying on an enormous, obscenely soft, ornate bed in a handsomely decorated chamber. His blood-soaked clothes were gone, and replaced with soft silk black slacks and a shirt.

What the Hell kind of game was this?

He sat up slowly, and realized from the surprising strength in his body that he had been healed -- probably by magick -- and fed, as well.

Being tied up and weak would have made him far less nervous. He got up and scoured the perimeter of the room, but couldn't find so much as a hint of a door or window. So... it was no less a prison... just a comfortable one.

He found a carafe of blood chilling on a small table, and the remains of his jacket laid neatly across the back of a chair. Naturally, the pockets were empty -- his stakes and cell phone were gone. And despite his still-knawing hunger, he had no intention of drinking the blood.

Angel took a long look around. Of course... the bed... the cozy room with a cheery fire in the hearth... his being healed...

"I thought we tried this route already, Darla!" he called to the empty air.

And almost jumped out of his skin when she materialized on the bed before him, dressed in a sheer, cream colored gown that left little to the imagination. He stared at her.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" she purred, stretching lazily, "This place is supercharged with magick right now... can you feel it? It makes me all tingly."

He took a seat on a divan on the far side of the room. "Let's not play games, all right? You're not going to seduce me. And even if you did, I think we already proved that you're not good enough to take my soul." It was a cheap shot, to be sure... but far less than he really felt like doing.

Her haughty expression faltered, but she quickly reclaimed her cool. "Seduction is not the game, my love. In fact, there *is* no game. No tricks, no devious plan. No fuck Darla then toss her to the curb like so much trash... just a simple bargain."

Angel glowered at her. "A bargain."

"Absolutely. One thing for another. No fine print, no underhanded dealings... at least... not between you and I. Simple bartering." She crossed her legs and sat up with a posture that would have been businesslike if it weren't for her negligee.

Her Childe regarded her darkly. "All right. Let's suppose I was interested in making a deal. What would that entail, exactly?"

She smiled. "Perhaps I should explain what's at stake, first. So you fully understand what refusing me will mean." She reclined against the mountain of pillows on the bed. "At sunset, Glorificus will crack the division between this world and the ethereal, and she'll start sacrificing humans to open that tear wider -- by sending souls into it. And for her grand finale, she'll sacrifice the most powerful soul of all -- that of your little jailbait tramp. This will pave the way for the big magick... the opening of the portal to her--rather unpleasant-- dimension, and then... all she'll need is her Key. Which, as you know, she will already have. She'll gut the girl, thus releasing her true essence, and... instant apocalypse. The magnitude of that final magick will tear the soul from every living thing for a thousand miles."

She paused to note Angel's reaction to this. Seeing that he kept his neutral expression, she went on, rising to pace before him.

"But that's not the way that I --or our friends at Wolfram & Hart -- want to play it. Granted, the ritual will forcibly remove your soul, and ultimately, that's what everyone wants, but... Lindsey's employers would much prefer to unleash their own Hell on Earth, based on their own timetable. They're not much interested in Glory's brand. So on that point, I believe, you and I have a common goal."

For a moment, Angel said nothing -- just continued to regard her with the same even stare.

Inside, he was reeling -- he had thought to have at least *some* control over the outcome of this situation. But as it turned out, he was beginning to think he was in a strictly lose-lose scenario, so far as his soul was concerned.

The only question remaining was what he could do to save the others.

"And what would the deal be, then?" he asked calmly.

Darla smiled -- the expression almost warm, this time -- and returned to sit on the edge of the bed.

"As I told you, it's really quite simple. When the veil between the worlds weakens just before sunset, you give up your soul, and in exchange, Lindsey's lackeys will set your Slayer free to save the world."

Angel had been expecting something like that, but to hear her actually say it struck him like a blow straight to his heart. He redoubled his efforts not to reveal even one iota of what was going on inside of him.

He sat forward a bit more, as if entering into serious business negotiations. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical. Do you really expect me to believe that if I agree to let you take my soul, you'll free Buffy?"

His Sire shrugged a dainty shoulder. "Of course. As I said -- Wolfram & Hart don't want to see this little Armageddon of Glory's come to pass. And all that I want is what is mine by right. What do we care about the Slayer? She, of course, will be too focused on saving her precious sister to be any threat to our escape. We'll be in Brazil by sunrise."

Not that it mattered -- her plan might sound relatively simple on the surface, but the implications went far deeper than that -- to set Angelus free would prevent thiis Apocalypse, perhaps, but the next victory would go to the forces of darkness, as a result.

Lose-lose.

"Just like that. I don't believe it for a moment, Darla. You can't let anything go that easily."

The blonde vampire waved his concern away with a sweep of her elegant hand, and rose from the bed once more. "Believe what you like, Angelus. It's really of no consequence to me. Either way, I get my mate back. I only thought that our reunion would be sweeter if you returned to me of your own free will." She sashayed to the center of the room. "Oh. There is one more thing that you should probably know before I leave you to ponder your choice. Capturing a Slayer's soul, apparently, is a tricky concern. All that nonsense about one dying and the next being called... Their essences are unpredictable. And for Glory's purposes, she needs to know the exact moment that the Slayer's soul is loosed in order to capture it. Now... this sort of delicate surgery requires an expert." Darla turned back and flashed Angel a dazzling smile. "An expert like me, for instance. By draining her, I will know exactly when her essence is released. And I assure you, my love, I have no intention of just feeding from her and leaving her corpse to be consumed by whatever nasty things come crawling out of Glory's world..." She paused dramatically. "I plan to have the world' s first recorded Slayer-vampire as my Childe. And your sibling -- or Great GrandChilde, depending on how you choose to look at it. What do you think of that idea, hm?"

Naturally, Angel was horrified... and no longer cared if it showed. His Buffy...his sweet, vital beloved... a vampire?

Never.

"How do I know you won't turn her anyway? Or that *I* won't?"

"You don't. But do you really want to take that chance?" Darla concluded her little speech with a snap of her fingers, and two minions appeared, dragging a battered and unconscious Buffy between them.

"BUFFY!" he cried, and went to rush to her, but found himself bound firmly to the chair.

"Uh uh uhhhh..." his Sire warned, waggling a finger.

The two minions vanished as quickly as they appeared, letting Buffy crumple to the floor. Darla crouched beside her, leaning in close and inhaling her scent deeply.

"Mmm. So much anger. She'd make a delightful demon, don't you think?"

Angel was unable to retain any semblance of cool as he shook in unchecked rage. "You' re going to pay for this, Darla. Mark my words," he snarled.

She gave another of her cold fairybell laughs. "How very sweet. But... don't forget what we discussed. I'll leave you two kids to talk it over and come back for your decision shortly before sunset." Darla blew him a kiss and vanished.

Whatever had been holding him to the chair disappeared with her, and Angel instantly shot across the room, diving to the floor beside Buffy. He scooped her limp form up gently into his arms, rejoicing to find her heartbeat strong and steady, her breathing deep and even. Unconscious... weak... but not even close to dead.

Holding her small warm body against him -- knowing for certain that she was safe -- broke something inside of him. Some granite wall that he had built around his emotions through all of this nightmare, to keep him moving. Now his resolve shattered, and he cried unabashedly as he brushed his love's hair out of her pale face.

"Buffy... can you hear me? Ionuin... wake up," he plead softly, raining gentle kisses on her cheeks. "Please, love..."

Her eyelids fluttered at the sound of his voice, and she moaned slightly. A moment later, she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"Angel?"

"Oh God, beloved... I'm sorry," he sobbed, pulling her close, "I'm so sorry."

Buffy weakly put her arms around his neck, and he could hear her whispering soothing comforts in his ear as he swept her up off the floor and lay her tenderly down on the bed, then stretched out close beside her.

"Where are we? What... what's happening?" she mumbled groggily.

"Sh... rest," he urged, kissing her forehead. "You're safe now. I'll be here to watch over you. Just... rest."

She blinked at him for a moment as though she wanted to argue, but her body was simply too tired. In less than a heartbeat, she was asleep, burrowed tightly into his chest.

Angel held her as close as he dared and listened to the sweet song of her pulse as he pondered his impossible decision.


	33. Chapter 33

It took all of ten minutes for Faith to get bored with the whole plan. Especially the 'working with Xander' part of the plan. He incessantly ran his mouth, making snide comments about everything from their hopeless situation, to the fact that Willow's charm wasn't working on the barrier, and the irony of Buffy and Angel getting back together, only to have the world come to an end.

Knowing that it was his defense mechanism against fear and panic did nothing to quell Faith's urge to rip his tongue out just to shut him the Hell up. So she did the same thing she did in prison when she was overwhelmed with the urge to cremate somebody. She did the breathing exercises Angel had taught her, and took off by herself for a while.

She wandered around the outside of what was once the gym, if she remembered correctly. Maybe there was some break in the magick at some forgotten point back there.

The secondary Slayer had just rounded the corner near the rearmost doors when she heard a noise in the nearby trees. Spinning to face her opponent, she found herself face to face with Buffy's ex-meatbag.

"It's not healthy to sneak up on people like that, Gomer," she snapped, "That's the best way to make sure a whole Hell of a lot more than just your nose gets broken."

Riley frowned. "Where's the rest of your squad? Kill them in cold blood? Or maybe you screwed them unconscious."

Faith snarled at the big loser. "Fuck you, Cornfed. The powder Red gave us didn't work, so I'm trying to find another way in."

Regarding her warily, he finally relented. "Fine. Then you won't mind if I join you."

The Slayer shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Whatever turns you on."

The pair continued in the direction Faith had already been heading, until they came upon a long, narrow courtyard that didn't seem to lead anywhere at all. As they stepped into it, they noticed something moving quickly toward them from what looked like an exposed pipe at the end of the corridor. Whatever it was was smoking slightly.

"Shit! Vamp!" Faith barked, and before Riley could reply, she sprinted full speed directly toward the advancing demon. With a frustrated grunt, he followed, weapon at the ready.

The Slayer dove for the newcomer, knocking it to the ground just inside the pipe -- which turned out not to be a pipe at all, but some kind of tunnel. Once she got it pinned beneath her, she whipped out a stake, fighting to focus through her sudden battle rage.

"Okay, fang boy! Start talking! Where's the Slayer?"

The vampire snarled, wiggling harder beneath her.

Squeezing her thighs together until she heard its ribs creak, she shouted, "You better spill it, unless you want to be a bucket of extra crispy! WHERE IS SHE?"

"How the bloody fuck am I supposed to know? I'm looking for her too, you stupid bint!" the downed demon objected.

Riley jogged up and glanced at him. "Let him up. He's ostensibly on our side."

The brunette looked at the soldier in confusion. "What?"

"I'm Spike, you moron!" it objected, "Aren't you supposed to be serving 5 - 10 for being a batty bitch?"

Faith finally let the blond vampire up, glaring at him as she got to her feet.

"Oh... right. I remember you. Not that it's any of your business, but I'm out on a pass," she informed him, "What, did Buffy recruit you to take Angel's place? You have a soul too, there, blondie?"

Spike scowled darkly at her. "Hell no! I'm here of my own free will! And... I can't bloody well believe I just said that."

Riley rolled his eyes. "He has a chip in his head -- it prevents him from doing harm to humans."

The brunette Slayer laughed. "Thanks. I knew that, Captain Exposition. That explains why he's such a wuss. Still doesn't tell me why he's letting himself get barbecued out here."

"Telly's out," he grumbled.

"He thinks he's in love with Buffy," Riley explained.

Faith's eyebrows rose. "Really. Bet Angel *loves* that."

"Thinks!" Spike growled, stepping into Riley's face. "You don't keep your mouth shut, I'll finish what the old GrandSire started!"

"You can't do a damn thing to me, Spike," the soldier snarled back.

He snarled. "Wanna test that theory? S'been a while. Seems to me I owe you for a little staking a while back."

Faith moved between the two males. "Okay. Not that this little pissing contest isn' t big fun, but... where the Hell is Angel?"

The blond vampire shook his head, morphing back to human face as he cleared the blood rage out of his vision, and looked at the new Slayer. He had to admit, she was pretty damn hot.

"Darla took him," he informed her.

"WHAT?" Faith yelped, "Darla, like, garden mulch Darla?"

Spike nodded. "Yep. He's making some deal with her to get Dawn and Buffy set free. Thinks she's gonna take his soul in exchange Stupid bastard made me promise to kill him if she does it."

Faith took a step back, shaking her head in disbelief as her eyes filled with tears. "No. He wouldn't... he *can't*!"

Riley gaped at the vampire. "He did *what*?"

Faith turned away from them for a moment, her shoulders shaking. Then, without warning, she spun and grabbed Spike by the collar.

"Where the fuck did she take him?" she hissed.

The vampire nodded to the tunnel behind them. "There's a breach in the barrier a mile or so back."

She immediately turned and began dragging him toward it, hollering back to Riley, "Come on, Soldier Boy, time to earn your hazard pay!"

Riley stood still for a moment, watching them disappear into the caverns. He shouldn 't just be running off... especially with a psychotic Slayer and a vampire. But... this might be their best chance to get to Buffy and Dawn. He quickly grabbed his radio and reported to Graham what he was doing... which he wasn't completely clear on himself, beyond the fact that there might be a break somewhere in the magickal barrier that was keeping them from attempting a rescue.

"Mr. Giles' group isn't far from your position. Find him and tell him what we're doing. Maintain radio silence with me from here on out until you hear otherwise, is that clear?" he commanded.

"Yes sir," Graham replied. "Watch your back, Finn."

Riley frowned. "It's not my back I'm worried about."

Switching off the radio, he jogged in the direction Faith and Spike had just gone.

*** "I'm comfortable leaving you here alone to deal with this," Lindsey told Darla as he and the other humans in the Wolfram & Hart contingent prepared to leave.

The vampiress didn't even bother to glance up at him, but instead went on reading 'The Wall Street Journal' as though he hadn't spoken at all. She'd changed her outfit again in anticipation of the approaching battle, and now wore loose black cotton slacks and a burgundy sweater instead of the gauzy nightgown she'd been prancing around in all day.

Of course, Lindsey thought Darla looked twice as gorgeous in casualwear as she did in a gown... much more like the soft, vulnerable woman he tried to kid himself into believing she was. Sure he was deluding himself, thinking there would ever be anything between them. There might have been some small chance back when she was human, but...

No... not even then. Even when she had a heartbeat, and before she knew she was dying, it was still all about Angel. Hell, he was the whole reason she existed at all, when he thought about it.

Personally, Lindsey would just as soon see the souled asshole *dusted* than elevated to some super-evil mega-soldier. Every time he and his firm tired to turn the sanctimonious creep, everyone involved ended up nearly getting wiped out. And this new plan...

Well... "plan" might be pushing it a little bit. It was more like a long line of happy coincidences. Receiving the information about Glorificus' plans to return to her dimension, for example, had seemed to just drop out of the sky. The Senior Partners discovered the ritual information soon after, which led to the realization that what the goddess needed to accomplish her goal was the most powerful soul magick in this, or any other, dimension. Bringing Darla in to assist had been Lindsey's idea -- for psychological punch, if nothing else. And she had brought up the suggestion of using Buffy as bait the moment that they realized the connection between Angel and the Key *was* the Slayer. It was beautiful, dark synchronicity. They were bound to be successful.

The Senior Partners were probably doing a jolly jig down in the fiery pits of Hell. They all thought there was no way they could lose this time.

Lindsey wasn't so sure. Things with Angel *never* went according to plan. And he was no longer convinced that bringing back Angelus would be good for anyone's health -- especially his and Darla's.

But then... if he did manage to survive, he would more than likely at least have his big promotion...

And nothing else.

Darla finally chose to grace him with a look. A bored look. Lindsey had never felt quite as small before in his life.

"You might want to toddle along, Lindsey, dear. We wouldn't want your soul getting sucked out accidentally, now, would you?"

The lawyer shot her a frown. "Not that you'd care." Maybe he was being childish, but he couldn't seem to help the bitterness that filled him every time he looked at her.

The tiny blonde put on the worst excuse for a compassionate expression he had ever seen -- and considering that he was the protege of the late Holland Manners, the coldest, most heartless son of a bitch that ever walked the planet, that was saying something. Darla set down her paper and rose gracefully from her seat, pressing her cold, softly body up against him, and fiddling with his tie.

"Now, Lindsey... of course I would care," she purred. "I wouldn't want to see the life force drained out of you after you've been so helpful in getting me where I want to be."

He snorted bitterly and forced himself to step away. It was too hard to think when Darla was touching him, and if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was being manipulated the way he had been for the past few months. Especially by a woman. Especially by *this* woman... or ... demon, rather.

"Of course not," he replied he replied sarcastically.

One of his underlings signaled from the doorway, indicating that it was time for them to go. Their helicopter had arrived to airlift them out of Sunnydale, because over the next few hours, it would become exceedingly dangerous for any creature with a soul (even one whose existence was as debatable as his own) to be anywhere near the Hellmouth.

Unless his backup plan was successful, of course.

Darla arched an eyebrow at him. "Hm."

They looked into one another's eyes for a long moment, and Lindsey searched the icy blue depths for a sign of... something. Anything that said he was more than a tool to her.

He found nothing.

"Good luck, Darla. See you back in LA," he told her, and quickly turned away.

The vampire smirked at his back as he left. She couldn't help but notice the boy had a nice rear view. Too bad his soul wasn't as black as he liked to think. No matter. Once Angelus was free, perhaps the two of them together could divest little Lindsey of his tainted soul... make him their personal boy-toy.

The thought made her smile grow. So much fun to be had...

First though, she had to prepare for work. She had a de-souling to perform in a couple of hours.

And a mate to reclaim.

As Darla hurried back to her chamber to get ready, she thought about her decision to return. When Lindsey first tracked her down in San Francisco, he'd practically begged her to come back (using the flimsy cover that Wolfram & Hart needed her help), she'd almost ripped his throat out right there in her hotel room. After the way her Childe had disrespected her... used and insulted her, she had vowed just to leave the whole incident far behind her, and start her empire somewhere new -- as far from Los Angeles as she could get. But the down-home boy playing big city lawyer had been so convincing, and the possibilities his plan presented were relatively sound, and... he gave great head. Darla was not only convinced that maybe she really could have her Most Favored back, but also that Lindsey might make an impressive Childe in his own right.

Add to that the opportunity to wipe out that little homewrecker of a Slayer, and her mind was pretty firmly made up. If everything went according to *her* plan, within a day or two, she would have an entirely *new* family -- one twice as powerful as that which she and Angelus had created centuries ago. The four of them would rule the world together... cut a bloody path across the continents. Go down in history as the most terrifying pack that ever lived...so to speak.

Darla could feel the magick increasing, a sensation like a small animal had crawled under her skin, and now scurried from her skull to her feet and back again. Tugging at her stomach... dancing fingers across her skin. The power made her demon restless and her patience thin.

It was all she could do to resist the urge to start her own spell right now. Run down to Angelus' chamber and torture he and the Slayer for a while.

But... the fun could wait. After all, it would last for eternity.


	34. Chapter 34

The next time Buffy opened her eyes ((Why am I always getting knocked unconscious, lately? I'm starting to feel like Giles.)), she was twice as confused as she had been last time. Maybe her run-in with Darla had been a nightmare after all, because now she found herself lying on a soft bed, curled up against Angel's chest.

((Okay... too many scene switches for my taste...))

She shifted in his embrace, and by the stiffness in her muscles, she thought that at least some of the things she remembered from the past few days had to be real. She reached up to gingerly touch her throat -- the opposite side from where Angel's mark was -- and felt the new bite healing there. It wasn't particularly deep or jagged... just a circle made out of fang holes. A shiver ran down her spine -- apprehension like someone dropping cold water over her skin.

Or maybe that was just the magick she could practically taste building in the air.

((Nope. Not a dream.))

Buffy lay almost perfectly still, not wanting to move an inch away from her lover, but tilted her head enough to look into his face. Though he was sleeping deeply, his brow was drawn tight, as though all of their difficulties followed him into the land of dreams. She wished she could find a way to crawl into that beautiful head of his and take on all the monsters that dwelt within... slay the demons that prayed on her beloved, and let a happy smile take the place of that haunted frown.

She started remembering the things Darla told her -- that Angel's essential core was evil, and his goodness only a mask. Looking down at his angelic face... recalling the light in his eyes whenever she gazed into them... she couldn't believe it was true. Maybe there was evil in there -- with Angelus still fully present, if chained, there would have to be. But really, didn't every creature have the capacity for evil -- including herself? It was what you did that counted... and Angel always did his best to do the right thing.

With a few really notable exceptions, of course.

Buffy gently dislodged herself from his arms and took some time to inspect the perimeter of the room for some means of escape as she let her mind wander.

How much of her lover was demon, and how much soul? And was it really that cut and dried? Darla insisted that it wasn't so simple... and yet the vampiress seemed to fall into the same trap herself. In her understanding, if Angelus was released again, he would automatically return to her. But Buffy thought she knew just a little bit more about the current mental state of the demon -- twisted and insane from a century of confinement with the soul, and she wasn't so certain that he would be quick to run to his Sire. She figured he'd be a lot more likely to want to help Glory achieve her goal than anything else.

So Darla might be a little premature in her smugness. That thought made her smile as she got down on her knees and felt along the floor for some sort of hidden door. There had to be a way out, if there was a way in. She needed to find it, and get herself and Angel out of here... fast. There was no telling what Glory might be up to with the two of them out of the way. All she could do was hope that the others had found Dawn and were protecting her as best they could.

She peeked over at the bed once more and saw that Angel was still sleeping. He looked like he'd been injured in the accident as well, but like herself, had been cleaned up, bandaged, and dressed in fresh clothes. Actually, that last part was unlike herself, as she was still wearing her bloody, torn jeans and sweater from earlier, which made her think that Darla had probably done the healing and changing. Buffy's head still rang from whaling it on the dash, but again, she couldn't help but think she should probably be in far worse shape, considering. And if Darla had gone out of her way to heal she and Angel... that could only be a bad thing.

Of course, maybe they were close to the Hellmouth, and with Glory working her mojo, the residual magick in the air was just enhancing her Slayer healing powers... and Angel's vampiric ones.

Whatever. It didn't really matter right now. What was important was that she was strong enough to move around, and that meant she was strong enough to find a way out. Minor aches and pains, she could handle -- she'd fought in far worse shape.

As Buffy moved around the room, she took note of the container of blood on the table. That was weird--Darla (if it was Darla who had set all this up) had *fed* Angel, too? What remained of his favorite leather coat was there as well, laid neatly over the back of a chair. She rifled through the pockets, and found them predictably empty.

Why put the coat there at all? Too weird. The Slayer couldn't even begin to imagine what it all added up to.

She climbed a chair in the far corner of the room, and walked up over the other furniture, running her hands along the edges of the wallpaper near the ceiling. Maybe there was a door somewhere underneath... or some hint of whatever way existed to get in and out of the room.

"It's solid," Angel said suddenly from behind her. "I tried already."

Buffy turned slowly to find him sitting up in bed. Funny... even with the dire circumstances they were facing, he still took her breath away... made the air in the room just a tad too warm. And with the extra power of the magick, the spell that he usually cast on her was only intensified.

"Oh," she replied a little breathlessly, and jumped down off the chair, glad to find that her legs supported her easily. Yeah, she was definitely ready for a fight.

She wandered back to the bed and sat down beside Angel, who wore an inscrutable look as she gently took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Are you okay?" they asked simultaneously, and both smiled at having done so.

"You first, " Angel suggested, reaching up to tenderly touch the fading bruise on her forehead.

Buffy nuzzled against his hand. "I'm fine. Much finer than I should be, I think."

His brow furrowed in worry as his fingers trailed down to the new mark on her throat. He could see by the shallow depth of the bite that Darla hadn't been looking to kill or even hurt Buffy badly -- it was simply done for effect -- probably to drive home to him the threat of what would happen if he didn't accept her "bargain."

"It's nothing," she assured him, "Your turn."

Angel took a moment to take note of the condition of his body before he replied. "I'm okay, too. I think someone's been healing us. And fed me," he said, and she couldn't help but catch the dark note of the last part. He probably had the same misgivings about their current condition that she did.

"I don't understand why they'd do that... heal us, I mean," she wondered aloud, "They must know we're going to try to escape. Wouldn't they want us weak?"

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "I think they assume that they won't have to worry about it," he commented vaguely.

Buffy missed the further subtle darkening of his tone as she glanced once more around the room where they were being held. "They do have us locked up pretty tight. Where do you think we are?"

"In the tunnels under the school," he replied, sitting up further to brace his sore back against the headboard. Buffy automatically slid toward him, nestling between his legs and snuggling up against his chest. The simple action sent a shock of pain through his system as his arms wrapped around her just as automatically. How long had it taken them to get to the point where this kind of togetherness was natural... and safe? And how ironic that it should finally happen right before it was finally taken from them forever...

Angel in no way wanted to give up his soul. Especially not now, when at least it was truly his, and had its mate so close. But through his hours of meditating on it, and dreaming of the alternatives when exhaustion finally pushed him to sleep, he saw no other option. A contest between the survival of his single soul and that of possibly every other creature in this dimension -- including Buffy's -- simply left no room for debate.

((The good of the many...))

He pulled her closer and buried his face in her hair, memorizing the feel of her body against his... her scent filling his senses... her warmth blanketing him... and hoped that the memory would be strong enough to follow his soul on its final journey.

"Figures," Buffy snorted softly, snuggling up to him, "Wouldn't want to have to drag all your prisoners around town when you have a Hell-on-Earth party to plan."

Angel forced himself to chuckle at her levity, despite the fact that each word she spoke was like a knife in his heart. God, how he loved her...

"So what's the plan?" she asked, relaxing into him, "How are we getting out of here?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I've been trying for hours. The room's magick -- no doors or windows. They teleport in and out."

Buffy pulled away to look at him. "They?"

"Darla and her lackeys."

The Slayer rolled her eyes at the vampiress' name. "She's playing this whole thing awfully hard. What did you do to her?"

Angel shrugged. "Nothing."

Buffy gave him a look. "She isn't acting like you did 'nothing'. What, did you throw her out without cab fare or something?"

He didn't reply.

She laughed. "You did! You tossed her out on her ass!"

Her lover looked chagrined. "The whole thing was a mistake. And Kate was in trouble. I didn't have time for nobility."

Buffy turned and got up on her knees, kissing him softly. "Under the circumstances, I don't think that qualifies you as a dog or anything, don't worry."

He frowned in confusion. "Dog?"

She shook her head. "Not important. We have to figure out how we're getting out of there. We have to get to the others. Dawn needs us."

Angel sighed, lamenting all of the painful things he now had to tell her. But he had promised her honesty, and she needed to know everything so she could be prepared when their enemies' final events were set in motion.

"Dawn's here," he informed her softly.

Buffy's eyes went wide with horror. "WHAT? How?"

"I'm not sure. I left her with Riley and his men, but..."

She gasped. "RILEY? Riley's HERE?"

Angel nodded.

"Oh my God," Buffy moaned, and got up. "Just what we need. But... if Riley had her, how do you know she's here?"

Before he could choke on his words, Angel launched into the story of everything that had happened since the accident, leaving out only the fact that he'd clocked her former lover, and the specific details of his surrender. Her look grew darker and darker, each new detail upsetting her more.

"Why would you come voluntarily? Especially *alone*?" she asked sharply, her voice edged with growing fear. "What were you *thinking*?"

"We needed to find out what was going on... how to get in here and what happened to you," he explained, "I thought it might be our only chance. I couldn't..." his voice dropped, taking on a soft, desperate tone. "I couldn't just let something happen to you."

Buffy sighed, dropping down on the bed once more, taking his hand. "Thank you. I love you for being so noble... but one of these days, that white knight routine is going to get you killed. Or us..."

"No one's going to die," he assured her. "I made sure Spike saw everything. He'll tell the others how Darla got me in."

His lover frowned. "Did you talk to her? I mean... what does she want?"

Angel looked away. "Pretty much what we expected."

"Which was?" Buffy snapped, already knowing what he was going to say, but some small part of her desperately hoped he would deny it.

"Me," he replied softly. "My soul."

She closed her eyes gripping his hand more tightly. "What did you tell her?"

A heartbeat passed before he responded. "I haven't given her an answer yet."

Buffy's head shot up. "WHAT? You mean you're actually *considering* this?"

He sat up further and looked her in the eye. "What choice do we have, Buffy? If I say no, they're going to take it anyway -- that's the nature of the ritual Glory's performing. If it happens that way, she'll succeed, and everyone else will die as well. We can't let that happen!"

"So, what, you're going to sacrifice your *self* instead? Bring back Angelus?" she yelped, her voice rising in anger as she yanked her hand away, looking at him in shock. "And that's better *how*?"

Angel didn't flinch or move away as he told her, "You and Dawn will *survive*. Glory won't be able to open the portal. You'll have a *chance*, if I surrender. Otherwise..."

Buffy couldn't look at him. How could this be happening? Just when everything was right between them again...

"We don't have a choice, Buffy," he repeated sorrowfully, "I have to do this. *We* have to do this. It's the only way."

For a moment, she was frozen... speechless as images of Angelus rushed through her -- his cruel words and horrifying actions the last time he was free. The slideshow of the worst few months of her life came to a screeching halt the moment her sword pierced Angel's gut, and he reached out to her, not comprehending... his eyes begging to know why as he was sucked into Hell.

"No..." she whimpered. "No, not again..."

Angel watched her, racked with agony, but filled with an equal amount of determination. This was his destiny -- to save her... to save the world. It was supposed to be a sacrifice... a gift... the final penance for an eternal lifetime of terror. And as long as he was assured the Spike would take care of the resulting threat...

"It's decided," he said, reaching for her. "Please. It's my decision to make."

Slowly dragging herself out of her stupor, Buffy let Angel pull her into his strong, gentle embrace, and broke down against his chest.

"I can't!" she sobbed, "I can't let you go! I can't lose you again!"

Angel rocked her gently, his own tears spilling over and splashing onto her hair. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I'm so sorry. I wish there was another way. But I'll always be with you, you know that. Remember what I told you? I'll always be watching over you, and I'll wait for you on the other side. I promise."

"It's not enough!" she protested, "I just got you back, Angel! I won't kill you again!"

"You won't have to," he whispered, "I've made other arrangements."

Buffy yanked out of his arms, her sorrow instantly evaporated by indignant anger. "You WHAT? How can you say that? 'You made other arrangements?' Like you were planning your own FUNERAL?" The thought hit far too close to home, remembering all those hours she'd spent with her mother, reviewing her wishes 'if anything should happen'... and it had.

"Buffy..."

"No, damn it!" she cried, "You *can't* give up now! What happened to all that stuff you told me about having a new outlook on life? Was that just something you made up to make me feel better?"

He forced himself to look up at her again. "Of course not. I would never lie to you."

Seeing the pain in his eyes softened her. "You fought *so* hard to keep your soul... to learn that you're important. That you *matter*, and you belong in this world! It needs you. I need you. Please, don't stop fighting now."

Angel gazed deeply into her eyes... the fire there, the stubborn determination to overcome -- to live -- seemed to wash out of her and over him, almost physically flowing like warm water on his skin. Seeing that power inside of her reminded him of all the realizations he'd come to for himself over the past few months, as though he was looking into the only mirror that could reflect his image and crack the shell of hopelessness that had begun to harden over his heart once more.

"I don't know what else to do, Buffy," he plead. "This isn't a battle we can afford to lose."

She reached up to gently caress his face. How could someone so strong still be so afraid?

"I don't know either. But there has to be another way," she assured him -- trying to reassure herself in the process. "We can't let them beat us without a fight. You can' t let Darla beat you... again. Promise me. Promise you won't just give up."

He let his eyes wander over the soft planes of her face, then return to her eyes once more.

This woman had always symbolized hope to him... a beacon of light when he was drowning in his own darkness. To see her fight to go on even under the most terrible of circumstances... her refusal to stop shining no matter what she faced. It had been that which drew him what seemed like a lifetime ago. That first night when the new Slayer came face to face with evil that her little girl mind had never imagined outside of movies, and even in her fear and confusion, she had reached out and destroyed it, her reality turning to dust just as surely as that first vampire did.

That stubborn unwillingness to be defeated... that headstrong desire to *be*... to succeed, was what had inspired him to reach for something better for his own unlife... why he had fallen in love with her.

Buffy was life... humanity personified.

And if Angel had learned anything from the Darla debacle, it was that he had that potential inside of himself, too. He might not *be* fully human, but he had *humanity*. And to lay that down willingly would be an affront to that shining part of his core that refused to die, to his lover, and to everything they stood for.

His Destiny was to save the human race... but by giving up and willingly joining the other side, he would be shirking that duty.

A hint of a sad smile moved across his lips as the realization sunk in, and he remembered the disembodied voice of the Powers calling to him during the Feast of Souls.

((Choose to fight.))

It hadn't been merely that moment's battle... but all of them. That he should choose to continue fighting until the war had been won, or he ceased to exist.

He had chosen -- and been rewarded for his choice with so much joy... not the least of which was the beautiful woman who now fought so hard to keep hope alive for him... for everyone. Overcome, he reached up and cupped her face between his hands, drawing her closer.

"I promise," he vowed, and kissed her softly.

The touch of their lips lit a literal spark in the air between them, the growing magick intensifying and magnifying their natural bond until both their forms were cocooned by it. Angel felt the last of his fear fall away like an old skin under her touch as her little hands wandered upward into his hair.

The sensation was overwhelming... what had been metaphorical between them for as long as they had known each other suddenly manifesting as a warm golden glow, sparking at each point where they touched one another and flowing outward, lighting the dark room like a miniature sun. Their passion became a living thing in its own right, bright and hot, and both warriors were washed away in the waves of its power.

Angel sighed as he deepened the kiss, easing his tongue between her soft lips, exploring the warmth of her mouth, his hands drawing their own gentle path over her chin, neck and shoulders, and finally circling around her back. The force was exquisitely primal, rushing hot in their blood, but equally ethereal as their spirit bodies reached for one another through the barrier of skin that separated them.

All thought and reason vaporized in them... plans, schemes, and worries gone in one of her heartbeats, and Angel lay her gently back on the bed, his mouth leaving hers to caress her neck even as he divested her of her ruined clothes. It was only when he pulled back to remove his own that he saw the soft glow that surrounded them, crimson and gold. For a moment, he froze, stunned by actually seeing the emotion he had always felt. He held a hand up before his eyes and noted the same aura surrounding his skin.

Buffy opened her eyes to see why he'd stopped, and noticed the phenomenon he was staring at. Her eyes widened in awe.

"Buffy..." he whispered, unable to tear his gaze away from the energy flowing around his fingers.

She was speechless... suddenly so full... of him, of her, of their love. Angel's dark eyes finally ticked to hers, and they shared a smile.

"It's so beautiful..." she murmured. "You're so beautiful."

He leaned down slowly and kissed her once more, feeling the power surge between them as their mouths tangled, and their bare bodies pressed together. He had always known that they made magick... that their souls, hearts, and forms were as intimately entwined as two beings could possibly be, but he had never imagined that he would *see* it... feel it so intensely that nothing in the universe could ever matter as much.

He looked into Buffy's eyes as he entered her, easing himself deep into her center, and both gasped loudly as a noise like the first soft rumblings of thunder shook the air -- a literal storm of passion building. Angel withdrew slowly and slid back in just as gently. The sound increased with each stroke, the air changed, the noise morphing from a base hum to a higher melody, punctuated by their heavy breathing... their soft gasps and cries to one another. The light that surrounded them grew ever brighter as their coupling grew more frantic, hands clutching, arms circling, legs tangling, and the entity that their lovemaking created expanded and swelled, the air singing louder and sweeter, until finally they both cried out as they came, and the magick crested, bursting with a crack and a flash of light like lightning striking.

They lay entwined together for a few moments afterward, both awestruck by what they had just done. The last of Angel's languor and weakness were gone, and he felt more invigorated... more awake, than he ever had in his entire existence.

Buffy and Angel were silent as they hesitantly drew apart and got dressed, watching and listening to their quiet storm lessen, then finally still. He took her hand and held it to his lips as he looked into her eyes.

"I love you."

"I love you, too," she replied softly, and brushed her lips to his once more. The magick crackled again, and something suddenly dawned on her as she pulled away.

"What?" Angel asked. "Are you all right?"

Buffy nodded slowly. "I think... I just had an idea. How long until sunset? Can you tell from down here?"

He didn't ask what she was getting at, but closed his eyes and concentrated on the signals in his blood for a moment before opening them again.

"An hour or so, I think. Why? What do you have in mind?"

She looked at him gravely. "What just happened? It... I mean... it did happen, right? We changed the magick."

He nodded. "Yes. We did."

"Why?"

He frowned. "Why?"

"Yeah, why? Not... I mean, I know *why-why*. I guess I want to know... how?"

"Something to do with Glory's magick, I imagine. Soul spells," Angel conjectured. "It felt like... whatever already existed between us was magnified... manifested literally."

Buffy smiled. "Right. Whatever it is that binds us together got turned up a notch by whatever Glory's doing to open the gates between dimensions."

He thought about it for a moment. "Like a magnet.. it enhances whatever energies are present in the soul. That's how she's going to feed them to the dimensional breach. How Darla's going to try to take mine..." He was starting to understand Buffy's train of thought now, and expanding on it. Their bond had always been there, but had grown even stronger each time they made love... each time they shared blood.

As if reading his thoughts -- and right now, he wouldn't be quick to dismiss the idea -- she nodded. "If we can make it even stronger, the others might be able to use us as a power source -- then whatever magick they're using to stop Glory..."

"We can enhance a hundredfold." He returned her smile. "Brilliant. But how are we going to increase it? Now isn't really the best time for more..." Angel nodded ironically to the rumpled bedclothes.

Buffy looked deeply into his eyes. "We have to feed from each other again. Then, you' ll have more power to fight Darla's spell, and when they bring us... wherever they're bringing us, we can somehow tell Willow or Giles."

Angel frowned. "It's awfully risky, Buffy. I don't know how much control I have right now... we can't afford to have you weak, or..."

She cut him off with a firm shake of her head. "We have to. It's the only way we can win."

He blinked as he stared at her, and suddenly, he could hear her blood rushing through her veins... hear her heartbeat pounding, and the hunger swept through him like a wildfire. The demon surged, not caring about the details of how or why... it simply *wanted*.

But his rational mind dug in its heels. He could kill her... or worse, turn her, if their calculations weren't exact... especially with all the magick. But by the same token, if it worked, not only would they become a powerful magickal conduit, but they would both be enhanced physically, as well.

Angel reached for her slowly, forcing himself to move. He grasped her upper arms to pull her closer as his features changed, and when she was a few inches away, he knew the last chance to stop was about to pass, and he halted.

Buffy looked into the demon's eyes with perfect trust.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice barely human.

She nodded. "Yes."

He moved closer as she tilted her head to the side, exposing her throat. His eyes flashed down to the mark he'd left so long ago, and desire rushed through him... memories of her taste blazing away his restraint. He dipped down to her pulsepoint, laving the scar softly, her responding moan like a short of pure adrenaline through his system. He forced himself to hold back as much as he could -- this feeding couldn 't be about pleasure... it was purely utilitarian. A swallow, no more.

Angel repeated those words like a mantra in his mind as he opened his jaws. ((A swallow, no more. A swallow, no more.)) Her body was completely tense, quivering, and the demon roared in anticipation, causing a deep groan to rumble in his chest.

"I love you," he whispered once more, and then tore into her flesh.

Buffy cried out, tangling her fingers in his hair, urging him deeper... wanting him to take more... to drink her dry... to take her... devour her. It was different than the exchange when they were making love... so much more primal and predatory... so much closer to the irony that was the ultimate reality of the relationship between them -- they were polar opposites on the scale of good vs. evil, and yet... she loved him more than life itself. More than the universe. More than her Calling. To have him feeding from her like this... For a moment, she thought about Spike's lecture about a death wish, and she wondered... was this what he meant? Because in this moment, she wanted to die... wanted to feel her soul slip away, and her life wash down the throat of the demon she loved, nourishing him, filling him...

"Yes," she gasped.

But after a moment, he pulled away, and the pain of separation was far worse than that of the wound itself.

He held her gaze as he took her hand, raising it to his chest, and used her long nails to re-open one of the healing wounds there. Buffy watched the blood well, and for the first time, felt an actual lust for it. She moved forward and sealed her lips around the cut, barely hearing Angel's own cry of pleasure as she began to drink.

The blood was still hot from her body... thick and sweet and tangy, and in a moment, Buffy was lost in a sea of warm crimson... the velvet darkness enveloping her, washing through her. She was falling and swimming in the very essence of the man she loved, and he tasted *so* good. She heard herself whimpering, imagined that she could taste his love... his fear... his entire existence as she took him in. She never heard him say 'stop'... never thought about stopping at all until he forced her away.

For a moment, she sat shaking with the intensity of the power flowing through her... her own and his melding, blending, burning through her body, and she could hear otherworldly voices whispering secrets to her soul...

"Buffy..."

((Together you are strong. Two champions made one...))

"BUFFY!"

((Stand united in the light. One heart, one mind, one soul.))

"God, love, say something! Can you hear me?"

((He has chosen, and so too must you choose.))

Angel shook her gently, terrified at the catatonia that had overtaken her. Buffy stared blankly out into space, her mouth slack and smeared with blood.

((Love will lead you to your gift.))

He did the only thing he could think to do -- he leaned forward and frantically kissed her, licking the gore from her lips.

((Death is your gift. Give it well.))

He heard the last echo in her mind as he tasted their blended essences on her tongue. He pulled away, shocked even further. Had they been talking to her or to him?

"Angel..."

He exhaled his relief, and almost collapsed as her eyes finally focused on him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, gently wiping the last of their blood from her chin.

She nodded slowly, her earlier look of fierce determination returning to her features.

"I think I know what we need to do," she told him, and launched into the plan she felt certain had come to them straight from the Powers themselves.


	35. Chapter 35

Hank snapped his cell phone shut and wandered back toward the small circle that Wesley, Giles, and Carl had created for their magic. The two humans' eyes were closed, and they chanted softly yet frantically under their breaths, while the other... thing... gestured wildly, emitting a series of what could only be described as feral grunts, punctuated by a few loud clicks every now and again.

All of this was simply too much for him to process. Demons? Vampires? And most of confusing of all, his little Buffy, some sort of supernatural *warrior*? If it wasn't so completely unbelievable, he might have felt some measure of relief. All these years, Hank had thought his eldest was just a spoiled, willful child with a real nose for trouble. He'd worried that the split with Joyce had damaged her and Dawn, and that was why Buffy insisted on spitting in the face of authority. But instead, it turned out that she was following the dictates of a far higher authority than just her parents and teachers.

So many things made so much more sense now... a terrible, sinking feeling of dread sort of sense. Talking to Sophie just now -- no, *lying* to Sophie -- had finally driven it all home.

"WHERE HAVE YOU *BEEN*?" she screeched at him when she picked up the phone in their hotel room. "I was worried SICK!"

For a moment, Hank Summers was frozen, utterly at a loss for what to say. He hadn't even given even the first thought to how he would explain his sudden disappearance to his fiancée, when his entire view of reality had been torn completely asunder, and he was now hip deep in preparations for an apocalyptic war. How was he supposed to tell that to pragmatic Sophie, who didn't even go to church because she couldn't believe in anything she couldn't see with her own two eyes? Hank's entire existence now felt like a dream, and in that first speechless moment after she demanded an explanation, he realized that he would never be able to go back to his life as it had been. Or to Sophie herself, for that matter.

Was this how Buffy felt in the face of the mundane that she had to deal with... at home, at school? When she had to lie to himself and Joyce about where she'd been and who she was with... when she was expelled for burning down the school gym. Something in his mind clicked, and he was speaking before he even thought to form the words.

"Dawn ran off. We're out looking or her now. I'm sorry I didn't call sooner."

"Oh, that spoiled little... Did you call the police?"

Even Sophie's bitching seemed unreal, as though he hadn't been hearing it every day for the past two years. And as he wove his web of lies ("Yes, we called the police. I have no idea where she is. Of course Buffy's helping"), he had another sudden flash of realization.

Hank Summers couldn't remember for the life of him why Sophie had become so important that he let his relationship with her get in the way of the one with his family. Not that that relationship had been anything close to normal for a long time anyway... But now it seemed so perfectly clear -- so much had been going on in his girls' lives, and he knew about none of it. Now they were facing the end of the world. Joyce was dead, Buffy and Dawn in mortal danger, and all that came before seemed instantly insignificant.

Hank promised to keep her updated... made her agree to stay in the hotel room, "just in case", and hung up, overcome with years of regret. How could he have let himself let himself grow so far apart from his children? How could he have left Joyce to bear all of this burden alone?

He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice Giles' approach until he touched him on the arm. Hank raised his gaze to look into the Englishman's kind face. This man had effectively become Dawn and Buffy's father... he had stood by them through all the years of otherworldly nightmares that had become the reality of their lives. His irrational dislike of Rupert has sprung squarely from his subconscious understanding that the watcher had become all that he himself failed to be.

"How are you holding up?" Giles asked.

Hank blinked. "I'm not sure. I think I'm still mostly numb."

The Watcher nodded. "I understand completely."

"No, I don't think you can," Buffy's father argued, shaking his head. "Mr. Giles... I 'm a failure. I've failed as a man... a husband... a father. How could Buffy have been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders -- literally -- and I was never even aware of it? Things like this," he gestured around him at the school grounds, "Going on every day, I never even noticed. How is that possible?"

Giles rest his hand on the man's shoulder. "I assure you, Mr. Summers, you are far from alone in your denial. The great majority of people on this planet are utterly blind the existence of the supernatural. It doesn't exactly fit into our modern conception of reality. Besides... now that you *do* know, you aren't just burying your head in the sand, as so many do -- you are helping to *do* something about it. I believe that goes a long way toward illustrating the strength of your character."

"I don't know how it happened... how things got so... confused," he lamented.

Giles looked into Hank's eyes, and saw the pain there... the depth of understand... the confusion and woe that accompanied them. But in a moment, his expression cleared, and his rugged features were overtaken by an look of firm determination. The Watcher suddenly understood where Buffy had come by that look.

"Well, it's a good thing my army training has stayed with me," Hank said, and turned to look back over the grounds once more, shouldering the laser rifle Riley had given him. The afternoon was just beginning to fade, and some the storm clouds had returned, casting the area in an eerie light.

"Yes. A very good thing," Giles agree, and turned to go back to the circle.

Hank reached out to stop him. "Rupert."

The Englishman looked back. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry. I've been incredibly unfair to you over the years, when you're the one who has been doing my job. And from the affection and respect the girls obviously feel for you... doing it well. So... thank you."

Giles frowned. "Mr. Summers, really, I..."

"No, please. Just... accept my apology. And if we all survive... know that things will be different from now on. I know I'm not very good at keeping promises, but... this one, I fully intend to. I don't ever want my children to be strangers again."

With a soft smile, Giles nodded. "I think Buffy and Dawn will be very happy to hear that."

"Gentlemen," Carl intoned loudly from behind them, "It is time."

Giles and Hank exchanged a final glance and went to rendezvous with the others for their final preparations before sunset.

***

Dawn had long ago stopped wiggling -- her wrists were raw from her useless struggles against the enchanted manacles. Her shoulders and arms were sore from hanging by them, her mouth was desert-dry, and her head was pounding from the stink of all the incense Glory had been burning.

She watched the skanky Goddess closely, making careful mental notes of pretty much everything she said or did as she made her preparation. Dawn wasn't sure that any of what she'd seen would be helpful, especially considering most of the preparations were of the cosmetic variety -- a hundred changes of outfit, having her nails, hair and make-up done by her gross minions in between bouts of chanting -- but she tried to notice whatever detail she could anyway. After all, who knew what her weakness (besides being *really* vain) might be? Any little detail could make all the difference when Buffy came for her.

The Slayer's sister didn't know how long she'd been tied up down here, but she figured it had to be pretty close to sunset, as she could feel Glory's magick growing in the air by the second. The power made it hard to breathe, the air was so heavy, and every now and again, random sparks would crackle like tiny bolts of lightning around them. Worst of all, about an hour (or was it a few minutes? She wasn't sure anymore) before, Glory herself had begun to glow... just a little sparkling gold around the edges, like Willow had taught her an aura looked like.

Probably not a good sign.

Glory finally noticed her staring. "What are you gawking at?"

Dawn didn't avert her gaze. Maybe she was about ready to wet herself in fear... but she would *never* show Glory that.

"Just wondering why a Goddess would be so stuck on her looks." Dawn knew she was probably taking a chance by teasing Glory, but an opportunity to distract her, if only for a minute, had to be a good thing for the others. "I mean, it's not like it's helping."

For a moment, her features twisted into a grimace, but then she smiled. "Nice try, little girl. But I'm not going to let you tease me away from my job." The goddess took a few steps toward the girl, and poked her in the chest as she said, "You. Are going. To die. And then... I'm going home. So have your fun while you can -- you don' t have much longer to live."

As the redhead went back to her chanting and incense burning, Dawn wondered if anybody was really going to come for her at all, or if this really was it. Would she die down here and unleash Hell on the world?

For the first time since all of this started, the Key began to cry. Maybe she wasn't real. Maybe nothing that she remembered about her life had ever really happened at all. But like Angel said... it felt real.

And she wanted it all back.

Dawn Summers closed her eyes, bit her lip to keep from sobbing out loud, and prayed for the first time that she could remember that someone would come for her... anyone.

***

Spike stopped again to look up at the ceiling of the cavern, causing Faith to plow right into him. The blond vampire turned and snapped at her.

"Watch where you're going, Slayer!"

Faith scowled back. "Where *are* we going? Do you even know?"

He looked back up again. "Yeah, I know. We've gotta look for the purple crystals in the ceiling. Then there's a cave to the right. That's where the bitch took Angelus."

Riley looked up as well. "We've been going for more than a mile, Spike. Maybe we took a wrong turn somewhere." On his observation, he grabbed the compass off his belt and glanced at it, dismayed to see the pointer spinning wildly. "Damn. It doesn't work. The polarity of the magick must be throwing it off."

Faith and Spike gave him matching 'duh' looks, then turned and continued their trek.

"I figure Red's charm will work where the magick's weaker," Faith observed as they turned another corner.

"And if not, I remember the little spell Darla used. Hey -- here's the purple rock. The entrance should be right around the corner."

The threesome hurried around the bend, and found the indentation in the rock. But before either Spike or Faith could step forward and perform their spells, Riley grabbed them.

"Hey... before we go barging in there -- assuming we can get in -- what's the plan?"

Slayer and vampire stared at him as though he was speaking Swahili.

"Uh... save Buffy?" Spike sniped.

"Find Angel," Faith added.

Riley frowned. "Yeah, that's great, but... *how*? We're looking at what amounts to a magickal fortress. Even with our walking sewer map, here," he nodded toward Spike, "We don't know where they might be keeping them. Or how heavily guarded they are. There's only three of us. We can't just go barreling in without some kind of plan."

Both of his companions looked about to argue, but seemed to think better of it.

"He's right," Faith admitted reluctantly.

Spike scowled. "We can't just do *nothing*, either. At least we can figure out where they are. The others will be startin' the anti-mojo soon. Maybe we can get to Angelus and the Slayer before they do."

Riley shook his head. "Again -- we don't know what we're up against. And Giles said it'll be next to impossible to fight Glory until sunset. If she's got these wards out here, imagine what she's got as we get closer to her ritual space. I think we should see if we can get in, then report back to the others. Just do some recon and not get all heroic, here."

Faith and Spike's nearly identical incredulous looks darkened.

"Bullshit," the vampire snapped. "*You* go back and tell the others. *I'm* going in to save the Slayer and Little Bit." He turned back to the wall.

"Me too," Faith concurred, and did the same.

Riley closed his eyes and sighed, torn between his instinct to save Buffy, and his certainty that all they were about to accomplish was getting themselves killed.

Spike spoke a strange word, and with an audible snap, the wall before him vanished, revealing a long corridor that led deeper into the tunnels. The blond turned and grinned at them.

"Abra-bloody-cadabra. You ready, pet?" he asked Faith.

The Slayer nodded. "Let's do it."

"See ya around, Dudley... Don't feel too guilty for being a pussy," Spike snarked, and the two of them jogged on.

Riley stared after them, frowning for a moment, then turned and ran in the opposite direction. He was sticking to the plan -- the others might be able to use the information they'd gained.

The soldier and ex-lover of the Slayer tried his damndest to ignore the tugging in his gut that kept telling him that Spike was right -- he was a coward.

Maybe it was true... but somebody around here needed to stay sane through all this madness.


	36. Chapter 36

The small army converged on the western side of the school as the sun began its final descent.

((Perhaps its final, final descent.)) Giles thought as he watched the gathering. None of the other groups had been any more successful in breaking the wards than his -- now their only chance was a united effort in one location, as close to sunset as they could afford to get.

They had been hoping to avoid having all of their forces approach together, which gave a magickal defense a better opportunity to destroy them all in one fell swoop. But their small pockets of magick users, even with Carl and Willow's respective power, weren't enough to counteract Glory's defenses. They would need to cast the spell collectively, leaving only one entry point for all their troops.

Looking over them again as they converged, he felt equal parts hope and despair. In heart and intent, he imagined that they had no equal. The fury of love and righteousness was a formidable weapon that had always served them well. But this was a different threat from any they had faced before... and they were horribly outnumbered and outarmed. After all, this was not simply some demon they were facing, but a god, with all of the seeming omniscience and boundless power one would thereby expect.

They numbered close to one hundred beings, human and demon, and all stood perfectly still and silent, watching the sun dip toward the horizon.

An awed hush fell over them as they watched the colors of the sky evolve from blazing yellow to muted gold touched with pink, and by the wonderstruck looks on the faces around him, Giles thought they must all be having similar thoughts to his own -- that if this was to be the last sunset they would bear witness to, it was certainly a spectacular one.

Their revised plan was set -- they would break the barrier here and enter through the old gym, converging directly to the library, above the Hellmouth proper. Carl, Willow and Tara had gathered a multitude of spells both defensive and offensive -- some that would momentarily interrupt Glory's energies, allowing a closer approach, and others they hoped would aid in dispensing with her more terrestrial minions without having to risk their safety by getting too close. The final spell, courtesy of Carl, required the achievement of their ultimate goal -- pushing Glory into the Hellmouth, after which he would close it... ostensibly, forever.

The only question was what would happen in between. Their contingent would climb down into the cavern where the center of the Hellmouth was situated -- jumping down of course, being a most inopportune way to make their entrance. With Willow's levitation spell and Carl's defensive shielding, they would be safe from attack as they descended, but any element of surprise would be lost.

In their position, every advantage taken from them would be a great loss indeed.

Giles looked around once more at his family and friends. The sight of them filled him with both pride and sorrow as he pondered how much they had all grown and changed in the years they had known one another. Xander, once the group's clown, stood tall and proud against the horizon, face set in grim determination, shouldering his laser rifle as though he were born to carry one. Little Willow, once a shy, timid mouse of a girl, raised her arms to the Heavens and chanted like a priestess-warrior of old. Cordelia frowning over her map, tracing and retracing their route and its possible alternatives with the same intensity she might once have invested in checking her makeup. Even Pryce had become noticeably different, handling their magick supplies with a grace and skill that belied his once bumbling, uncertain manner.

Even he himself had changed, he realized, in more ways than he could articulate fully, or indeed, that might be apparent to the naked eye.

And Buffy... When he had first met her, she was willful... almost deliberately obstinate and irresponsible. Completely self-centered. But over the years... especially since Dawn's arrival, his foster daughter had transformed into a woman of great strength and selfless dedication -- the kind of Slayer, in both power andd skill, that most Watchers only dreamed of.

But more than that, she had become his friend... the daughter that every man dreamed of having, and he was proud of her beyond reckoning.

Giles set his jaw and halted his thoughts before they turned in a darker direction. Buffy would survive. They all would. And he would enjoy the privilege of growing old while watching them continue to evolve.

He closed his eyes and cleared his thoughts, preparing to lend his energies to the growing chant, but was interrupted by the crowd suddenly bursting with low chatter as their ranks parted, and Riley Finn appeared, anxious and winded.

"WAIT!" he called out as he ascended the hill where they stood. Wesley and Giles rushed over to meet him as the others looked on.

"What? What is it?" the younger Englishman asked.

The soldier looked from one man's face to the other.

"We have a better way in."

***

Once past the outer wards, it didn't take long for Spike and Faith to run into trouble. They encountered the first pocket of well-armed guards about a hundred yards inside the entryway -- just vampires, though. They made quick work of that bunch.

Another hundred yards ahead, they encountered a second group -- slightly larger than that last -- and some rather big, nasty non-vampire demons with swords among them. Kicking their asses took a bit longer and required more cunning, but Spike happily noted as he crushed one demon's skull, swiped its sword, and beheaded two vamps in one sweep, that Miss Runner-Up Slayer and he made a pretty damn formidable team. They wiped out the small contingent in a couple of minutes, and each had gained a sword to boot.

As the last vampire's dust settled over them, Faith turned and shot him a wicked grin that he felt down to his toes.

"Shit, is this all she's got for defenses? We'll have B and Angel free in a snap!"

They ran on, and Spike kept the pretty certain knowledge that there was probably far worse ahead to himself.

Hell, the way things were going, maybe it wouldn't matter what they ran into. As they rounded the next corner and were instantly engrossed in even fiercer battle, he caught a glimpse of pure, furious joy on the girl's face.

The same relish he felt rush through him as each of his opponents fell.

Maybe there was something to be said for vampire/Slayer pairings after all. True, she wasn't Buffy, but... the more he watched... heard Faith's jubilant shouts punctuating each kill, and saw her lean body move and stretch, the more he started to think that might not be such a bad thing.

Two more melees down the hall, and he began to feel the sunset in his blood.

"SLAYER!"

She glanced at him over the latest victim of her joyous frenzy. "Yeah?"

"No more time for play, pet. Sun's going down!"

Faith instantly grew serious, and took out the last three vamps with one sweep of her sword. Spike stared in awe.

"Let's move!" she shouted, and sprinted on.

((Hot damn. That's one Hell of a woman!)) Spike thought, and quickly followed.

***

Glory glowered as Darla entered her chamber, wearing an exultant smile and a really tacky outfit.

"What do you want *now*?" the goddess snapped as she made a final check of her details -- both magickal and cosmetic. After all, she wanted to look her absolute best when she arrived at home that night. So when she wiped out the council that condemned her, they would perish as much in awe of her beauty as her invulnerable power.

But the beautiful vampiress' presence made her uneasy. Glory knew full well that demons from this dimension weren't to be trusted -- their motivations were never as they appeared. The same, of course, held true for lawyers. So she had been careful to make magickal preparations to defend against any treachery the blonde bitch and her lawyer friends might have plotted behind her back.

She was ready for whatever they might throw at her. There was no *way* she wasn't getting out of this hole of a dimension... *tonight*.

"Just checking on the casting... it's almost time for me to fetch Angelus, and I wanted to make certain everything's going according to plan," Darla informed her, taking a long look at the little girl who was at the crux of all this excitement. Her eyes were closed, but the vampire could still clearly hear her little heart fluttering. Dawn looked to be either asleep or unconscious. It was difficult to tell which.

"Everything is *fine*," Glory insisted, picking up her silver and gemstone encrusted scepter -- the centerpiece of the ritual. She tested it, pushing one of the larger stones, which cause a trio of sharp knife blades to snap out of the top with a loud hiss.

Darla raised her eyebrow at the ostentatious weapon. "Interesting choice. Surely a simple sword would suffice."

Glory rolled her eyes. "Idiot. It's not a *weapon* -- it's a *tool*. Each blade is cursed three times to serve two purposes -- bleed the subject, and pull their essence to the surface. It's a gift for my Key."

The vampire clearly heard the girl's heart jump in response to that revelation. So... not so unconscious after all, then.

"Hm. So you gut her, then suck her soul out. Fascinating," she mused, "Painful, though... poor little thing. Evisceration is an agonizing way to die."

Dawn's breath hitched, and her body began to quake in fear that she couldn't hide. Darla smiled.

Glory dismissed the slut's babbling with a wave of her freshly manicured hand. "Whatever. I'd stick her in a blender on 'chop', if I thought it would work."

Darla shot her a bemused look. Cold indifference was sometimes more interesting than deliberate cruelty. But it seemed like such an awful waste of a tasty morsel. Since her re-making, the vampiress had little time to hunt her favorite delicacy -- children. She would have liked to share this particularly tender one with Angelus.

She sighed. Her boy... soon to truly be hers once more, forever. And with her Slayer Childe to share with him... and perhaps Lindsey...

The nights ahead were bound to be stimulating.

Glory stopped her preening to glare at the blonde once more. What a tramp -- all this trouble for a *man*? The logic of it completely escaped her. There were far more important things in the universe than a pretty mate.

"You're still here?" she hissed.

"Mm..." Darla purred, approaching where Dawn hung chained to the chamber wall. "Just thinking about draining the Slayer."

"Well, don't," Glory snapped, "Just *do* it. Once the other eight are sacrificed, suck her dry. When her soul is loosed, I'll use the Key... and that will be your leave to get out of my *face*."

Darla narrowed her eyes at the goddess. "Do tell... what sort of creatures should my Childe and I expect to encounter as we depart?"

The redhead shrugged. "Nothing interested in disgusting dead flesh, I'm sure. Although..." she tapped her chin thoughtfully, "The rip in the ethereal might let in some other nasty things that I don't really know much about. You and your meatboy might want to make yourselves scarce once I cross over."

The vampire smiled. "There's little that Angelus and I fear. We'll take our leave when it suits us. After all, the end of this miserable world might be entertaining to watch."

Angelus especially would enjoy witnessing the "Scooby Gang" perish, she was sure. Unfortunately, his passion for destruction would have to wait... they certainly wouldn't be sticking around once the Slayer was in their possession.

"Is there something you wanted, Darla?" Glory asked as she rose from her vanity. Ten of her disgusting minions instantly appeared and began bustling about, gathering their materials and taking the girl down from the wall. "The sun is nearly set, and I really don't have time to chat right now."

Darla gave her a frigid smile. "Neither do I."

"Good, then. Shut up and go get my sacrifices so we can get started," the goddess huffed, claiming her scepter from the table and vanishing, followed by her lackeys, and finally, the Slayer's sister. Just before the girl vaporized completely, Darla whispered a simple incantation, and was pleased to see the girl briefly glow red as she vanished.

That ought to slow things down, she thought, and willed herself back to her own quarters.


	37. Chapter 37

"The sun's setting," Angel told her softly, placing a final kiss to Buffy's forehead as he got up. Since they'd hammered out the details of their plan, they'd taken some time to relax as much as possible, and enjoy what might be their final quiet moments together.

Buffy rose and slid on her boots. "I wish I could use the magick to conjure up a new outfit, you know? This is gross," she lamented, gazing forlornly down at her gore-stained clothes.

Angel put on his own shoes and approached her, taking her gently by the shoulders. "We can't let Darla know what we learned," he reminded her, "Besides...you're beautiful no matter what you're wearing."

She smiled wryly up at him. "You're still a sweet, terrible liar, I see."

They both smiled at the memory of their first failed attempt at a date.

"It's not a lie," he insisted, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Even covered in muck, you're still the most amazing thing I've ever seen."

Her smile faded as she looked up into his eyes. "We have to make it through this, Angel. There's so much..."

He interrupted with a gentle fingertip to her lips. "I know. We will."

Although they were both referring to the potential apocalypse that lay before them, they were also more selfishly focused on the future that they could share if they survived. The potential for so much more of the joy they had shared over the past week. The knowledge that even though their lives would never be simple or perfect, from now on, they would have one another to turn to... to lean on.

"We will," she agreed, and stood up on tiptoe to kiss him, trying to ignore the sparking energy that resulted, even though she thought it was sort of cool.

Angel broke the kiss first and softly caressed her cheek as their eyes met once more.

"Buffy... no matter what happens... please, always remember how much I love you. I'm incredibly thankful that we got to share this time together."

"Me too," she whispered, twining her arms around his neck. "It's so much more than I ever dreamed we'd get to have. Even if I die..."

Angel frowned. "You're not going to..."

She interrupted him with a look. " *If* I die... I'll wait for you, I promise. Someday, I know we'll be together again. But... I need you to promise me something."

"Of course. Anything," he vowed.

"Promise me that you'll be there for Dawn. I mean... if you two make it, and I..."

"Okay, that's enough," he cut in. "You're not going to die. And even if... something did happen, you never have to question that. Of course I'll be there for Dawn. She's my friend."

Buffy gave him a soft smile. "I know. I just don't want to leave anything unsaid."

At her words, Angel took a deep breath. "Buffy... there's something I want to tell you, before... any of this happens. Something maybe to hold onto if things start to go badly. I wanted to tell you before, but... things have been so..."

"Whacked?" she grinned.

He chuckled. "Exactly. But... since we're making sure to say everything that needs to be said..." He trailed off, losing his courage suddenly. Was it really confession time -- now, when they were about to face the battle of their lives?

Then he realized... there might be no more moments for them after this. The possibility of losing her... or dying himself... tore into his heart like a jagged blade.

Buffy waited, her eyes filling with apprehension. Angel wondered -- what was she imagining he was about to say? He remembered that look so well... from the sewer when he had "ended" their relationship... from the Day That Wasn't. That expression that said some part of her was an abused puppy, and knew she was going to get kicked in the heart, but still couldn't quite accept that it was happening.

He wished that he had so much more time to make that look go away.

Buffy swallowed hard and fought down the instant panic that threatened. Funny -- she was about to go into a battle that she and everyone else on the planet might not survive, and yet, that didn't scare her nearly as much as what he was about to say.

"What is it?" she forced out in a whisper, "You can tell me."

Angel took another deep breath and nodded. This needed to be said. Buffy needed this shred of hope to hold on to as much as he did, in light of what they were facing. Maybe that one more little reason to fight could make all the difference.

"I told you that the prophecies say I'll play a pivotal part in the apocalypse. That my participation will be a deciding factor in which army wins."

Buffy nodded. "Hence the 'Angel Soul Sucking Division' of Wolfram & Hart."

He held her gaze squarely. "That's not all it says."

She held her breath. "No?"

"No. There's something else. It... describes what will happen if I... survive."

She watched the light in his eyes brighten... that beautiful spark of hope that had always lived there, now grown to a blazing flame, and some part of her *knew*. The long-dormant dreamer in her soul wept even as she waited to hear his words.

"It's... my reward. If I fulfill my Destiny, the prophecies say... I'll become..." he faltered again, almost unable to say it. He had set the notion of Shanshu aside when his focus on it began to obscure his true mission, and now it seemed that he couldn't find the strength to draw it out again.

"Human," Buffy finished for him.

He gave a curt nod. "I'll be made mortal."

The Slayer gaped at him, her green eyes filling. This was her fondest wish... for her and for him. To be rid of the demon that haunted him forever... to grow old and die... to be able to raise the family he always dreamed of...

Why hadn't he told her this before? So many things could have been so different...

Angel saw the question in her eyes. "I couldn't tell you, Buffy. I don't know when... or if... it will happen. And I left you so you could move on to the normal life you always wanted. I might not become human in your lifetime, and... I didn't want you to waste your life dwelling on what might simply be a pipe dream."

She finally remembered to blink, and the tears that had gathered spilled free to run down her face. Angel reached up and gently wiped them away.

"Human," Buffy repeated breathlessly, and suddenly the word had weight... real power all its own. The air crackled with it and all of its implications. "Oh... God..."

Angel watched the emotions... the dreams and wishes thought long lost, playing across her beautiful face. Her eyes had turned somewhere far away, and he wondered... was she imagining what it could be like? Or was she overwhelmed by the emotions elicited by his admission, as he had so often been? Was she angry that he hadn't told her? Or hurt that he told her now, when they very well might be preparing for death, which would kill that dream forever, along with every dream of every other creature in this dimension.

"Buffy, please... say something," he pleaded, squeezing her cold, limp hands.

She continued staring blankly out into space, but said, "I'm not sure what to... say."

The bewildered tone of her voice made him doubly convinced that it had been a mistake to tell her this now.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, letting go of her hands and getting up. "I just thought... you'd like to know."

The hurt in his words snapped her back to the present, and Buffy forced herself to rise and go to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her face against his broad back. He stiffened in her embrace.

"I'm sorry, Angel. I think... God, it's so wonderful. Please don't believe I don't think it's wonderful..."

Angel took a deep breath and turned to face her. "I shouldn't have told you. We need to focus on now, not some distant possible future."

Buffy smiled up at him, shaking her head. "No... don't you get it? The less secrets there are between us, the more powerful we are."

His brow scrunched in confusion. "What?"

"Can't you feel it? The magick..." she explained, holding her hand up between them. As she concentrated on the emotions flowing through her at his confession, her hand began to glow once again. "When we let down the barriers between us, we make magick."

Angel looked skeptical, but the hope returned to his dark eyes. "I don't understand."

"Watch," she told him, and thought for a minute before pulling him tighter. "When I sent you to Hell, I had nightmares... horrible nightmares... every night for months. I felt like it was all my fault. All those people you... who... died... you turning. When I ran you through with Kendra's sword, something in me died too. And it didn't come back when you did. I don't know if it ever will, because deep down, I don't know if I can ever really forgive myself for pressuring you into making love that night."

"Buffy..." he began to object.

"No, watch," she insisted, and as she felt the weight of that long-held secret slip from her soul, the glow surrounding them grew brighter still. She couldn't help a smile. "See?"

He blinked rapidly, still not completely believing what was so clear before his eyes.

"Death is our gift..." she pondered aloud, "That's what the voices said when I was drinking you. But it's not literal death. I felt it when you were just telling me about the prophecy. Like... a rush in my blood."

Understanding dawned suddenly on his face. "Death of the old... forgiveness."

Buffy nodded, smiling as brightly as the power that flowed around their forms. "When we make love, the walls between us start to come down. But when we forgive... ourselves and each other, they *disappear*. Angel... can you forgive me for being so selfish? For making you lose your soul?"

Angel's instinct was to tell her there was nothing to forgive. That he had wanted what happened that night as much -- no, probably more -- than she had. That he cherished the memory in spite of the horror that came after, and that there was no need for forgiveness, because it wasn't her fault. If it was anyone's, it was his.

But that wasn't her truth. The guilt she bore wasn't rational, based on facts, but it was real and true to her. If what she was suggesting about their magick was true, then he needed to give her the pardon she was asking for.

"Of course I forgive you," he forced himself to say, "Buffy, I wouldn't trade that night for anything." As he said it, he knew fully and at last that it was true, down to his soul, and forgave himself, as well. They had been ignorant... innocent. All they had done was love one another, and whatever the result, he refused to believe that that in itself could ever be a crime.

The brilliance of the power grew twice as bright, forcing him to squint against it.

"You're right," he gasped, watching the play of colors in their combined auras in wonder.

Now, it was his turn... but where to begin? There were so many secrets... so much he' d never shared with her. So many wounds, and time was so desperately short, he knew they would never be able to touch on them all. They needed to do all they could to boost the power, though...

He rifled through the seemingly endless filing cabinet of things he needed to be forgiven for... things he had never told her. There was one that he held... sometimes the heaviest burden he carried. The one secret that weighed him down so completely, he could almost feel it, perched on his shoulders, and more than once, he'd almost been crushed by it.

Could he tell her about the Day That Wasn't? Should he?

It didn't matter how he felt about it... or even how she would feel. It had to be done.

"Two Thanksgivings ago, when you came to see me at my old office," he began, "What you remember isn't all that happened."

He threw open the tightly locked box of those memories, telling her the details of That Day and its conclusion with no emotional embellishment at all.

Tears spilled down both their faces as he concluded. "Can you forgive me for... being so weak? For giving up so easily?"

For a moment, she hesitated, and Angel felt a pang of panic to realize that this was too much for her to take in... something that would require more than a moment to understand, let alone forgive.

But her expression cleared, her eyes alight with love and understanding. "I forgive you. You did the right thing. The only thing."

The secrets and pains came rushing out of them as they sat back down on the bed... one regret or secret or mistake after another. Buffy told him about the summer after he left Sunnydale... how she had spent her days and nights trying desperately to hate him. And for a long time, convinced herself that she had. How she had given herself to Parker, and then Riley, in some misguided attempt to prove to herself that she didn't love him or miss him or need him anymore. How she had badmouthed him at every opportunity... and how she had lost herself in the process.

Despite once again believing that it was not something that needed forgiving, that, indeed, it was his fault, Angel forgave her... and himself for driving her to it.

He shared many things he'd kept to himself during the years he'd known her as well. His inability to resist being close to her, despite knowing where it would inevitably lead. He asked her to forgive him for being so weak... so needy, that he had made her the center of his existence.... and stolen her innocence in the process. He asked her forgiveness in poisoning her against the idea of a normal life. For leaving her feeling unable to love... for feeding from her... for leaving her.

Buffy did. They wept in one another's arms as the power between them lit the room to blinding effulgence. As he held her, Angel thanked the Powers that his soul had been anchored...

Because he had never felt so complete... so perfectly happy, as he did in that moment, with her love and forgiveness, warmer than the sun he so sorely missed, blanketing their entwined forms.

Finally, Buffy pulled away, and Angel gently wiped the tears that tracked down her flushed cheeks as she looked into his eyes.

"If we die tonight," she whispered, "Promise me you'll find me on the other side."

"I swear it," he replied, and sealed their vow with a kiss.

Even as he did, and the power rushed through them once more, he also felt the sun setting somewhere on the horizon miles above.


	38. Chapter 38

"Aytah... melitingo akchat tah... felibrita... Achominatk tah..."

"Arronyah... felictat tah... mechinat... achominatk tah..."

"Melistoh... cristibak tah... devistah... achominatk tah..."

"Syfastan... ellistos tah... zebinar... achominatk tah..."

Xander watched Willow, Tara, Carl, Giles and Wesley chanting in a round as they had been on and off all afternoon. The difference was that now, they were *below* the high school, just outside the barrier that Riley had directed them to.

The spell they were doing at this moment, supposedly, would neutralize physical barriers between them and Glory, and shut down any supernatural sensors that would alert the goddess and her lackeys of their approach.

Too bad they couldn't find a spell to just turn Glory off.

He had seen a lot of weird things during his tour of duty as a Scoob, but nothing even came close to the intensity of this scene. He could see the magick all around them... random cracklings of electricity like flashes of mini-lightning everywhere. He could feel it on his skin... not just the hot breeze that sometimes accompanied Willow's spells, but like a blanket of liquid fire coating them all... just... without actually burning. And when their current chant built to a peak, there was a loud BOOM! that echoed all around the corridor, with a flash of red light that forced him to close his eyes, it was so bright.

When he opened them again, everyone was glowing.

"Holy crap!" he yelped.

"My God," Wesley exclaimed.

"It worked," Willow chirped proudly.

The soldiers of light all glanced around at one another... everyone had a similar halo of bright light wavering around them, but each was slightly different.

Auras, Xander realized. They were seeing each other's auras.

"It's so beautiful," Cordy gasped, waving her hand in the air as she turned to Gunn. He stood there, eyes and mouth wide, staring right back at her. She reached out to touch his hand, and Xander watched their individual glows combine.

He automatically reached for Anya's hand beside him, and saw their auras do the same.

Anya didn't look phased at all. "Huh. I didn't think it would work," she declared calmly, and looked him up and down. "I always thought you'd be bluer. You're much closer to purple."

Xander smiled at his lover, her energy flowing like a pale pink ghost, shot through with gold. She was, by far, the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Marry me," he blurted out.

Everyone in their immediate vicinity turned to stare at him.

Anya looked confused. "What?"

"Marry me, Anya. Be my wife," he repeated, and ignored some small part of himself that started squealing in bachelor terror.

The ex-demon frowned. "Right now? I don't think it's the best time..."

Xander smiled and shook his head. "After. Soon."

She thought about it for a moment, then a huge smile lit her features almost as brightly as the magick did. "Okay. I mean... if we don't all die horribly... I'd love to be your mate. Does that mean we can get a boat?"

He merely grinned in response.

"I told you their auras matched," Tara murmured to Willow, who snorted derisively in response.

A quick round of hugs and handshakes of congratulations ensued, and Xander ended up in the arms of, and hand in hand with, a whole lot of beasties he never really much wanted to touch... like Cordelia.

His ex gave him a wicked smirk. "I say if you found somebody who can actually put up with your extreme loserness, marry her. And then chain her in a closet, just in case."

"Hey!" Anya objected, then brightened. "Chains... hm."

Xander kissed Cordy on the cheek, eliciting a dark look from her very large boyfriend. "Thanks, Cor."

"All right. This is all very lovely and romantic," Giles cut in, "But I think perhaps we should defeat the dimension sucking Hellbeast before we start celebrating, don't you?"

The barrier came down, and where there had been a cave wall before them previously, they were now facing a long, dimly lit corridor that lead deep into the subtunnels.

"Yeah," Anya agreed. "I have a lot of thick bridal magazines full of dresses I can never afford to look at. So let's hurry up and kill Glory."

The contingent moved forward.

***

Glory whistled a cheerful tune as she strapped the Key into the special manacles. They left all of her major pulsepoints free, as well as the center of her body, then activated the spell that would suspend her from them. The chains began to glow, and the girl yipped in pain.

"Perfect!" the Goddess declared, and spoke a single word that levitated the Slayer's sister off the table. Glory had to give her idiot minions some credit -- she had asked them to design something that would hold the shell firmly in place, while allowing full circulation, and they had certainly come through. Once she hung the girl over the Hellmouth and ripped all of her major arteries open, then flipped her over, it would only be a few minutes before all of her life force drained out, thereby releasing her true essence with the last beat of her ugly little human heart.

Of course, things would be so much easier if she could just blow her up with a fireball or chop her head off or something, but... no. Of course, really powerful magick was never that simple, and the ritual required slow, complete bloodletting, and there were all kinds of rules and ratios to keep track of. Number of heartbeats in relation to amount of blood still remaining, blah blah blah...

Actually, now that she thought about it, with all the concentrating she had to do on the Key itself, it was actually a good thing she'd hired the slutty vampire to worry about the soul sacrifices. Part of her wanted to drag the bitch demon back in here and go over everything one more time, just to be sure. But... Darla had as much at stake here as... Okay, so not as much as Glory herself. but the ritual had to be perfect in order for the soul magick to work, and she knew for a *fact* that the vampire wouldn't put the desouling of the Slayer's little boyfriend on the line. It wasn't like Darla was actually giving up anything to help her -- all she had to do was have a few quick meals with a Slayer dessert, and all would be well.

The goddess almost regretted being able to take the opportunity to kill Buffy herself. She'd been dreaming about doing just that for months, now. Thinking about all the slow, agonizing ways she could destroy the snotty little bitch. Like implosion, for example. Or stuffing her full of flesh eating worms. Peeling off all her skin...

Oh well. She would at least have fun watching her get drained by a vampire -- that in itself was a really amusing irony. Add to that the fact that the vampire draining her was the Sire of her goody-goody souled vampire lover...

Was there a word for 'delicious double irony' in this stupid human language?

The girl burst into frightened tears again, and Glory winced at the sound. WHY had the monks chosen to turn her Key into something so weak and revolting? Why couldn't they have made her into... a stained glass window, maybe... something pretty and fun to break. All the whining and whimpering was making her itch.

"Oh, shut up! You'll only be in pain for another hour or so. Then you'll actually be of some *use* to somebody again."

Glory wished she could gag the brat, but... hey. She couldn't have everything, right?

With a thought, her minions began to appear and hustle over to where she stood with the Key floating in the air before her.

"Okay... get her to the Hellmouth, and let's get this show on the road," she commanded, raising her arms and beginning the first calling of the final ritual.

***

"Holy shit," Faith whispered loudly as she and Spike arrived at the entrance to the inner chamber.

The cavern before them was huge, and seemed to be filled to the bursting point with demons of various shapes and sizes, all bustling around arranging things, dragging captive humans toward the gaping hole in the chamber's center, or dancing and chanting madly.

Spike yanked her back from the doorway and then peeked around the corner once again. There had to be guards nearby, possibly creatures that could smell or otherwise sense their arrival. Plus the fact that all the vampires in the chamber probably knew Faith had come a while ago.

He watched the flurry of activity closely... maybe Glory's magick was drowning out the regular senses of the crowd inside. He certainly wasn't feeling that down low tug in his gut that always warned him Buffy was near. Of course, that could have something to do with the fact that Faith wasn't Buffy.

The brunette Slayer elicited a whole different instinctual response in him from the blonde.

He shook away his lusty thoughts. This was business. Attempts to get down this new Slayer's tight leather drawers would have to wait until after they averted the apocalypse.

"I don't see Buffy," he whispered. "Or the poufter."

"Me neither. And where's Glory? It's got to be close to sunset."

Spike concentrated as he scanned the room before them. It was hard to see, what with all the mini-fires bursting in the air, plus the thick incense smoke. He'd been right about everything being blurred... he couldn't catch the scent of anything but frankincense, himself.

"SILENCE!" A voice boomed from the far end of the chamber. "Prepare for her coming!"

In the blink of an eye, the chaos ceased, and every creature in the room scrambled to what was probably their assigned place, standing ramrod straight and statue still. With everyone out of the way, Spike had a better view of the other side of the cavern, a hundred yards off.

When he did, he almost wished he hadn't. Twenty of the biggest, ugliest demons he'd ever seen lined up against the far wall, all tusks and slime, standing with what was probably supposed to pass as majesty. He almost expected 'Hail to the Chief' to start playing or something as a line of Glory's grubby-arsed minions appeared, dragging eight humans chained together in a line beside them. They paraded around the Hellmouth -- which looked a whole bloody lot bigger than he remembered -- until the bound humans were spaced evenly around it.

With room for one more at the top.

Three vampires started heading directly toward them. Spike grabbed Faith once more and ran for the corridor opposite the one they'd just come from. The passageways were eerily empty now, in comparison to all the fighting they'd had to do to get this far.

He stopped once more and pulled the Slayer to the side in one of the outcroppings, only then realizing that they were holding hands. Faith seemed to come to the same conclusion in the same moment, and yanked hers away with a scowl.

Spike blew it off. "They're starting. We need to find the Slayer. Quick."

Faith shook her head. "No way. We need to find Angel first. We need him, and things around here will get a *whole* lot worse if we have Angelus to deal with on top of everything else."

The vampire snorted. "Angelus is nothing. I can take him out without breaking a sweat."

"Vampires don't sweat," Faith spat at him.

"Whatever. Look. What we've got to do is break Dawn out of here and stop this bloody ritual. And that means finding the Slayer!"

The two glared at one another, and Spike felt the same old rush of anti-Slayer instinct rushing through him -- the urge to smash this stubborn wench was like a literal itch under his skin. But then there was this new thing, too... the lusty admiration thing that he thought was reserved only for Buffy.

(( Oh Christ. I'm getting some kind of Slayer lust disease.)))

"We don't have time to argue about this, okay?" she snapped, running a hand through her tousled hair. Spike forced himself not to watch. "Let's just see if we can find *any* of them. Whoever we get to first gets the Big Rescue Door Prize."

He nodded. "Fine."

The brunette glanced up and down the corridor that ran perpendicular to the one they were in. "Which way?"

Spike stepped up beside her and took a deep whiff of the air, then shrugged. "Dunno. All I smell is demon slut magick."

Faith sighed. "Okay, then, if you were a psycho demon goddess bent on getting your skanky ass back to Hell, where would you hide the three people that could really fuck it up for you?"

He might not have been able to scent anything, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with his hearing. A few yards up the corridor, he heard a pretty loud commotion and more than a little chanting. Yanking the Slayer back again, and they both peeked around the corner.

A contingent of the scabby Glory Lovers appeared, followed by the bitch herself, carried on a silk-covered litter by four of the ugly buggers. Her eyes were shut tight, and she was chanting loudly in some weird foreign tongue... and glowing like she's spent the afternoon in a nuclear waste bath. The entourage filed in to another entrance to the Hellmouth cavern and disappeared.

Followed closely by a chained and levitated Dawn, being tugged along like a human balloon by still more of the disgusting pussbags.

"Christ," Spike spat when he saw her, and pulled back to collapse up against the wall. Somebody was going to die for this.

"That the kid?" Faith asked, with something that sounded a mighty lot like sympathy.

Spike nodded, but didn't say anything or open his eyes.

"Then I guess she wins," the Slayer said, and whispering a prayer that Angel would be able to hold his own, dashed off in the direction Glory had just disappeared.

***

Buffy and Angel sat side by side on the bed, quietly holding hands. They'd talked through the better part of the last two hours, and had worked on passing thoughts and energy back and forth for a while after as they discussed their strategy once they were out of this room.

Now there was nothing left to do but wait.

Buffy closed her eyes and deepened her breath, letting her roiling thoughts still like ripples on a lake, until she was fully relaxed. She and Giles had practiced mediation a lot before...everything... and she'd gotten pretty good at sending herself into a trance state even in times of great stress. She slipped into the soft darkness inside her, but instead of finding the peace she usually did at her center, she found chaos.

Fire. Lights flashing. Voices... some whispering, some singing, and some screaming. She struggled not to panic in the cacophony, and tried to sift out some kind of comprehensible signal or message. The magick that she and Angel had been working with seemed to have opened her, somehow. She could hear Xander speaking... Glory chanting... Dawn crying. Focusing on the last, she wondered if the communication was two-way... if it was communication at all, and not just her imagination going haywire from all the stress. She sent waves of love and reassurance to her sister anyway... promising her that Angel and she were going to save her, no matter what the cost.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to help. Dawn kept sobbing senselessly, and Buffy's spirit drooped just a little bit more. If only there was some way to share her hope with her baby sister...

"Buffy..."

Angel's voice cut into the whirlwind of her trance, and Buffy's eyes snapped open to find his trained on her.

"She's coming," he said somberly, and it was hard to miss the tremor of fear in his voice. She gave his hand a squeeze, and smiled.

"We'll be okay," she promised.

Angel nodded and did his best to smile back.

In all of his many years, he couldn't remember ever being so frightened. And considering some of the things he'd lived through -- a lot of which had taken place in the last six months -- that was saying something.

But he kept his focus as squarely on the plan as he could, and prayed it would work as the air shimmered and cracked, revealing his Sire, escorted by several large vampires, near the center of the room.

Seeing her made it instantly simple not to be scared, as Angel was nearly overcome with rage. Only Buffy's firm grip on his hand kept him from doing something really idiotic -- like rushing Darla and ripping her head off.

"Aw... how touching," she sniped, "I hope this is a tender goodbye moment. Have you made your choice, my dear boy?"

Angel kept careful control of his expression, holding tight to Buffy's hand. "I have."

Darla smiled, fully confident in what that choice would be. Her mate might not always be the sharpest tack in the box, but if there was one thing she knew she could count on, it was the nobility of that disgusting soul plaguing him. She always found that an amusing irony, considering the first incarnation of that soul could be called anything but noble.

"Don't waste my time with games, Angelus," she chastised him. "We are hardly in need of dramatic effect, here. Speak your decision aloud, and so shall it be."

Still holding his beloved's hand, he stood. "I agree to your bargain. My soul in exchange for Buffy's freedom."

An expression of sheer shock and horror overtook the Slayer's features as she leapt to her feet.

"WHAT?!" she screeched, "WHAT IS THIS? WHAT ARE YOU SAYING???"

Angel turned and forced himself to look at her. "I'm sorry, Buffy. There's no other way."

Her eyes flooded with tears as she pulled him close. "You can't... you promised, Angel... You promised me you'd fight!" she cried.

His look was pure agony as he reached up to brush her cheek. "I can't let you die."

Buffy shook her head and began to back away. "You... you BASTARD! I TRUSTED YOU! You lied to me! How can you DO this?"

He closed his eyes, unable to take the pain in her voice, or see the betrayal in her eyes. He had put it there too many times. "I'm sorry. There's no other choice. Please try to understand."

"NO! I'll never understand this! We agreed! You promised you wouldn't give up!" Buffy sobbed turning her back to him.

He fairly ached to go to her, but held his ground, knowing full well if he touched her one more time, he would never be able to go through with this. "It has to be this way," he said, as much to himself as her, and turned to his Sire. "I'm ready. Let's get this over with."

Darla smiled. All this angst and silly melodrama made her queasy, but it was well worth it. She reached out and touched her beloved Childe's arm, unsurprised when he flinched away, his eyes back on the Slayer again.

"You've done the right thing, my darling," the vampiress assured him. "The smart thing." She turned her cold, smug smile on the hysterical Slayer, who had collapsed back onto the bed. "Buck up, little cheerleader. You might be losing your lover, but you're gaining a very real opportunity to save the world. And you don't need to worry about killing your precious ex... I assure you that Angelus and I will be as far from this place as we can possibly be when this is over. I hope never to set foot in this wretched town again."

Buffy's head flew up, pure rage glowing in her eyes as she set a killing gaze on the blonde vampire. "You won't be going *anywhere*," she hissed, "Except floating away on the *breeze*."

Darla laughed. "How very droll! Angelus? Shall we? We haven't much time to prepare."

Angel nodded, his eyes still fixed squarely on Buffy, but the Slayer refused to look at him. He swallowed stiffly, wishing their parting didn't have to be this way.

"I love you, ionuin. Please don't forget that," he whispered, and followed Darla back to her entry place at the middle of the room, where her minions quickly shackled him.

"Fero ferre tuli latum", Darla called.

Buffy abruptly jumped from the bed and rushed toward them. A rush of wind marked her lover's passing, and she screamed into it as he began to disappear.

"ANGEL! I LOVE YOU!"

She had just enough time to see a small, sad smile on his lips... and then he was gone. The Slayer sagged into a ball on the floor and wept.


	39. Chapter 39

Wesley couldn't help thinking of "Journey to the Center of the Earth" as their group descended deep into the bowels of the Hellmouth. Though there was no fire and brimstone apparent, nor a single Hellbeast to block their progress, a distinct aura of fear and dread hung about their group as they marched, accompanied only by the sound of the Witches' and Carl chanting and the soft drip...drip of moisture from the cavern ceiling.

In essence, the soldiers were present at this point merely to provide cover for himself and the other spellcasters, in case the cloaking glamour Willow and her friend had cast somehow failed. Thus far on their trek, they had only encountered a few stray vampires, and those had been dust before there was any opportunity to notice the small invading force.

When his turn to chant was over once more, he glanced to his right, where Gunn and Cordelia kept close to him. Kate and Hank Summers flanked his left. To his front were some of Riley Finn's black-clad commandos, and the rear was covered by the mercenary contingent.

All the pieces were in place now, and all that was left was to bring them into play. Not for the first time, Wesley desperately wished that Angel was among them. Not knowing his fate consumed much of the attention the ex-Watcher should have been focusing on the matter at hand. Though his logical mind fully understood that their first priority had to be stopping Glorificus, his heart fairly cried out to him to rescue his dear friend and ally first. He had failed the vampire so miserably during the Darla fiasco -- had let his near-hero worship and liingering intimidation toward Angel keep him from fully expressing his concern, and they had nearly lost him as a result. He wanted a second chance so badly... not only to save Angel for his own sake, but to make sure that his souled friend truly understood how much he meant to him.

Failure was an old friend of Wesley's, his constant companion since boyhood. It had only been through his kinship with Angel that he had found any degree of success or semblance of self-worth. Only because he had befriended the legendary vampire with a soul had he found his true place in the cosmos, and gained a family that he deeply loved... and that loved him in return. If Angel were to perish now, after all that they had survived together, and he had done nothing (again) to try and aid him, he feared that would be a failure from which he might never recover -- or be able to forgive himself.

But at the same time, he knew -- Angel would want Wesley's full energies focused on what they were about to do -- on Dawn's well-being... and Buffy's. That the vampire would gladly lay down his life in their names, and would expect him to do the same. To show his friend respect meant putting aside his own feelings, as Angel so often did, to get the job done. To fail in stopping this ritual would have far worse consequences than simply another wound to Wesley's already battered ego.

Cordelia nudged him. "Hey. No brooding," she whispered loudly, giving him an attempt at a reassuring smile. But he could see the same fears and concerns that he held in her big sienna eyes. "That's Angel's job."

Failing to return the gesture, he admitted, "I'm frightened for him."

She nodded. "I know. I am too. But... the best thing we can do right now is concentrate on Glory, right? That's what he'll be doing..." Her face collapsed into a woeful frown. "If he's not already Angelus, that is."

Wesley shook his head vehemently. "He will *not* lose his soul, Cordelia," he insisted, trying to convince himself as much as his friend. "Angel would rather be destroyed than set that monster free."

"How can you be so sure?" Cordy whispered, her fear clear in her tone. "Are you sure he wouldn't just *give up* his soul if it meant saving the world? Because knowing him... I'm not."

The Englishman flinched at the stark truth his friend spoke. He hadn't even *entertained* the possibility that Angel might voluntarily *surrender* -- hand over his hard-won life force in exchange for their victory. In his place, Wesley thought he would do the same. Certainly one bloodthirsty, psychotic vampire would be far more easily dispatched than the overwhelming number of demons that would surely converge on the Earth were Glory to succeed.

The realization crushed what little hope he had managed to retain.

"We have to believe it won't come to that," he insisted with a great deal more confidence than he felt.

Cordelia's expression was half despair and half furious determination. "If it does, though... we have to... take care of it. For his sake. He wouldn't want to go on if that happened... and his soul can't be restored again."

Wesley nodded sadly. "We are his family. It would be our duty to... end it."

"But it won't come to that," Cordy hoped aloud, "I know it won't."

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Of course it won't. Angel is strong, and we will get to the others in time. I'm certain of it."

Gunn listened to their exchange, feeling the weight of its implications on his own heart. He'd been pretty ambivalent about Angel in the past, but in the few months since the AI team had been together again, he'd gained a whole new respect for the vampire.

Aw, Hell... he'd come to think of him as family, too. Someone, when it really came down to it, who they could count on. He respected Angel as a warrior... cared about him as a friend. He'd seen how hard he fought for what he believed in.. for the people that he loved. And Gunn had seen the pain of the guilt Angel carried with him every day because of what the monster that stole his body had done. He never thought it was fair, himself. After what happened to Alonna, he couldn't help but think that Angel's constant self-punishment was a twisted sort of blaming the victim. The beast Angel was spending his immortality making amends for had *killed* him, just as sure as the bitch who sunk her fangs into his neck had. Why should he pay for that?

Gunn glanced over at Cordy and Wes once more, and found that they had lapsed back into a morose silence. The pain etched on their faces made his heart ache. They were his family as well, and out of love for them, and respect for Angel, if it came down to it, he wouldn't force either of his friends to kill the third.

He'd do it himself.

Riley, who had taken the lead on their march, held up his hand to halt their forward motion. The corridor split just ahead, dividing into twin passageways that led around toward the center of the catacombs -- the nest of the Hellmouth itself. This was where they would divide into two groups to converge on either side of the ritual chamber in order to surround Glory with magick. Each of the two teams would enter on their respective side -- one to the West, and one to the East, then break into smaller pockets to cover the four compasspoints. They would be arranged in a circular formation, with several layers of armed soldiers guarding the pairs of spellcasters at the center. The leftover troops were assigned to one of their other major targets: Dawn, then Buffy, then Angel, and finally, Glory herself.

There was no time for final good-byes or words of encouragement between the friends. Flashes of light and a loud litany of chanting were hard to miss from the chamber up ahead. Now was time for action. The large group broke down the middle, and moved in their assigned directions.

As they rounded the corner into the final stretch of passage, Wesley noticed a battalion of vampires clustered around the entryway. As their soldiers crept forward to confront them, he caught a glimpse of Cordelia out of the corner of his vision... lagging behind, rubbing her temples.

((Oh no...))

He sprinted back to her with Gunn at his heels, arriving just in time to catch her as she shrieked in agony and fell to the floor.

The rest of their division halted, all turning to see what the commotion was.

Wesley crouched down, cradling his friend against his chest as the vision wracked her body. In the past few months, the sight had been hitting her harder, and lasting longer... leaving him often worried for her welfare. But never more than this moment, as she continued to scream and cry for a few more seconds as he held her. When she finally relaxed, signaling that the vision itself was over, she still clung to him, sobbing pitifully.

He softly stroked her back. "Cordelia... what is it? What did you see?"

Gunn and Wesley exchanged fearful looks as she choked out... "A-angel... Oh God! No!"

***

The placid look on her Childe's face infuriated Darla. Angel had just been torn from the embrace of the soul's one true love, and now hung by his outstretched arms from her chamber's ceiling, like some demonic messiah. His broad chest was bathed with a thin sheen of cold sweat, his skin angry red from her use of the lash. Certainly a little whipping wasn't the most amusing pastime she could have devised, but time was short and equipment lacking. She had hoped to make him grunt or flinch, at least. Or that his agony over the impending loss of his soul might pull a tear or two from his mahogany eyes. Just a small sign of pain in recompense for his disrespect of her, his Sire and better.

But he refused to give even a whimper. Indeed, he didn't react at all to her words or her actions. He just kept smiling that idiotically placid smile.

The little vampire clenched her fists at her sides in frustration. Certainly, she had enough experience and creativity to make him scream... but unfortunately, she didn't have time to utilize them.

No matter... in a few moments, he would be writhing at her feet in agony as his revolting soul was ripped from its tethers. Then Angelus would no doubt spend his first painful moments groveling at her feet, begging forgiveness for his disrespect.

The visual made her smile. "You always have been headstrong, my love," she said, stepping toward Angel, and gouging a sharp fingernail down one of the raw wounds on his chest. For a moment, she watched the blood well, then leaned in and licked it closed once more.

"You can't break me, Darla," he informed her calmly, "You can't even hurt me. I'm far beyond your power, now."

A flash of rage burned through her, but she pushed it away. "Bluster all you like, my darling. In a moment or two, your bravado won't help you one bit."

Darla turned away and slinked to the small altar she'd set up nearby. The surface was covered with the ingredients for enhancing Glory's magick and ripping out his soul. Nothing all that spectacular, really... in fact, there wasn't a tool or ingredient present that any idiot off the street couldn't find in a Chinese grocery, if they knew what to look for... and had a God tearing the veil between the dimensions, of course.

She fingered the ingredients lovingly. It was all so deliriously simple... light the herbs, say the incantation, and let the magick do the rest. She only wished she could have known about all of this sooner, and avoided all the humiliation her former mate had subjected her to since her return from the void.

"I suppose, to be fair, I should ask if you have any final words." She turned to glance at him once more as she picked up the ceremonial dagger from among the implements on the table. "Although, honestly, I don't really care."

Angel kept his expression neutral, holding her gaze and avoiding even a brief look at the knife. He concentrated instead on the well of energy inside him that he had Buffy had built, keeping its light and warmth close.

"Only that you should be careful what you wish for," he drawled, letting his smile morph into a cold leer. "Your fondest dream may not turn out exactly the way you plan."

Darla gave him a bemused smile, as though he were a stupid child telling a joke. "Really. How very interesting. All right, I'll take the bait. Why, pray tell, should I be at all concerned about releasing your true Self and reuniting with my rightful mate?"

"What makes you think he wants you any more than I do?" Angel asked, his voice edged with cold cruelty. He let his eyes roam disdainfully over her body. "He's had just about all he cares for from you. I'm afraid you're old news, Darla. Emphasis on the *old*."

She flinched visibly, her cool facade crumbling in an instant. Her utter conceit had always been her most fatal flaw... 150 years with her had taught Angel at least that much.

Besides, he knew it was true. He could feel the demon's indifference toward its Sire, like ice water in his veins. Angelus was never really known for loyalty... or a long attention span, and if Darla managed to succeed in freeing him, no doubt it wouldn't be long before she was dust once and for all.

Cold comfort... but any comfort was better than none at this point.

His Sire lashed out, catching him across the cheek with her whip.

"Shut your mouth," she spat. "Soul or no, you are my *property*, and you will afford me the respect as such! I've been indulgent with you since your making, Angelus, but that ends now! When we are gone from this horrid little town, you *will* learn your place!"

Angel forced his smile to spread. "What's the matter? Afraid you've lost your touch, *Sire*?"

The whip cracked once more, slicing the other cheek open. He chuckled coldly, licking away the blood that dribbled to his lips as the tiny blond took another step closer, and hissed in his face.

"Watch your tongue, *whelp*! That is... if you want your precious Buffy to survive."

He held her gaze, his smile not faltering. "Oh, I have a feeling she'll survive, whether you help her or not."

Now it was Darla's turn to smile. "You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, love. Enough of this. Let's get to work, shall we?"

Angel had to choke back a shout reminding her of their bargain--insisting that she keep her end--as a wave of last minute panic washed through him. Had he chosen incorrectly? Was his plan about to collapse in front of his eyes? Was he about to throw everything away in vain?

There was no time for him to ponder the possibility of failure fully, as Darla lit the incense mixture on her altar and began to chant. He could feel the magick in this room change, much the way it had when he and Buffy were experimenting earlier. Only this time, the change was palpably negative. Rather than light and warmth infusing the air in the room around them, the storm Darla effected was utterly dark, sending a frigid void of nothingness sailing from her fingertips toward him. Helpless, Angel watched the inky cloud move, the haunting echoing sound it created sending a shiver down to his beleaguered soul, as though some terrible creature were opening its jaws to devour him.

When it reached the place where he hung prone, Angel realized that the metaphor was far too apt for his comfort. The cloud seemed to spread and stretch as it grew closer, until it was just slightly wider and taller than he himself when it closed around him.

First came the arctic cold... so frigid that it sent chills rocketing through his nerves. He focused on the ball of warmth that was he and Buffy's magick until the icy wave abated.

Next came the itching, like a million bugs crawling over the surface of his skin. For a few excruciatingly long minutes, he used all of his quickly waning strength to ignore the overwhelming urge to scratch.

Then the needles sunk in, ripping his every nerve ending to shreds, and there was no way he could stop the scream that burst from his chest as the stabbing torment tore ever deeper into his body.

Darla finished her incantation, then stood back with her arms crossed in smug satisfaction to witness his agony. The screaming, which to anyone else might be the stuff of nightmares, fell like a lullaby on her ears.

"You shouldn't fight it, sweet," she murmured, more to herself than anything, as Angelus was certainly in no position to be advised right at the moment. "It wouldn't hurt nearly as much if you didn't."

She'd seen a lot of methods of torture in 400 years. In fact, she'd inflicted a lot of them either with or on the very vampire screaming and writhing in agony before her. But nothing she had witnessed before amused her quite as thoroughly as this.

His big body jerked and shuddered, every muscle stone rigid with the undoubtedly excruciating agony. After a while, his screams faded to cries, and finally to weak whimpering as the poison settled in his system. Angel's eyes rolled back into his head, his body went slack and still, and he finally made no sound at all.

Darla smiled. Just lovely. With a snap of her fingers, her bodyguards appeared in the doorway, immediately moving forward to unchain the unconscious vampire from the ceiling.

"Take him to the ritual chamber. And wake him up a little bit. I don't want Glorificus to know what's going on," she commanded, and turned her back, dismissing them.

The soul wasn't gone yet, but the way was paved exactly as Lindsey had promised it would be. Once Angel was brought to the Hellmouth, the center of Glory's magick, the final step would happen on its own. The vacuuming of the soul into the ether.

The lackeys nodded, propping Angel's limp form between them, and dragged him from the room. Darla let out a wistful sigh as she watched their exit.

"Soon, my love... soon," she whispered, and followed.

***

Faith bit her lip so hard, she drew blood as she backed away from the door of Darla's chamber before the lackeys could catch her.

It was like a nightmare. One, in fact, that she'd had many times since Angel had become pretty much the only person that she could still call a friend. He had saved her life... Hell, her *soul*, and she had just stood witness to the horror of his being stolen from him.

Angel was dead.

The depth of pain at the realization surprised her as it tore into her heart, and the tears she had been fighting since Spike had first suggested this was a possibility finally broke free, blinding her as she ran back the way she had come... or at least, she thought it was the way she had come...

The agony on Angel's face was seared into her mind's eye, and Faith wanted to start screaming... fall down and die herself from the sucking sensation of loss that consumed her. She hadn't felt this bad in years. Since she had watched Kakistos gut her first Watcher like a fish. The sobs rocked her as she ran, finally causing her to stumble and fall to the ground. But she didn't feel the stone biting into her skin as she landed hard and curled up into a ball against the passage wall. All she felt was the grief... the sudden aching, devouring emptiness that filled her entire being, washing all of her strength away.

Her only friend. Her only tie to life, to hope, to possibility. And she had been able to do nothing at all to help him.

"Faith?"

She wailed harder, clutching her knees to her chest.

"FAITH!"

For a moment, an irrational hope flashed in her heart as the voice cut through the sound of her keening... the pain in her soul... She felt her vamp alarm kicking, cramping her womb tight, as she looked up.

"Angel?" Had she dreamed it all?

Spike dropped to his knees beside the fallen Slayer, automatically scooping her into his arms and inspecting her for injures. There were none... only the scrapes on her knees and forearms.

"What happened?" he barked at her, "Did something hurt you?"

He barely had time for the realization that he *cared* to register before Faith finally focused her vision, saw it was him, and immediately burst into tears once more, clutching at his chest.

"He's dead! She killed him!" the hysterical girl wailed.

Spike froze. "What?" He pulled Faith away and gave her a shake. "What are you talking about? Who's dead?"

The Slayer's breath hitched painfully. "A-angel! I s-saw it... Oh, Christ, she... He' s... gone, Spike! She took his soul! I saw it!"

The blond vampire reeled with the news. He'd known this might happen... he'd been thinking about this moment all night... looking forward to the chance to stake the bastard who stole his Dru.

But now, he almost felt bad about it.

Spike dragged Faith to her feet and shook her once more.

"We don't have time for this!" he shouted, "We have to get to the Hellmouth! NOW!"

Faith shivered, tears still pouring down her filthy face as she looked at him, struggling to pull herself together.

"But..."

"No! NO BUT! RUN!" he snapped, and pulled her down the passage toward the ritual chamber.

There was no time for regrets or hesitation, wondering or second-guessing, now. They had a bloody job to do, and damnit, they were going to do it. He and his GrandSire might not have kept a lot of promises to one another, but this one he planned to keep.

***

Buffy clenched her teeth against the bone-jarring sound of her lover screaming.

((It's all in your head. It's all in your head.))

Then the pain hit... a tearing agony like something ripping her in two from the inside. There was no way she could convince herself *that* was in her head. Unless it was a psychosomatic full-system breakdown, because in spite of her desperate struggle to stay focused, strong and on her feet, the waves of pain knocked her to the floor.

((Oh God. I'm dying too. Angel... Dawn...))

The Slayer curled up into a fetal ball, clutching her stomach and wailing at the top of her lungs, half-convinced that her soul was being torn out right along with his.

((No!))

She fought... harder than she ever had in her life. Reached down into the deepest core of her essence, where she was half primal rage and half pure, spiritual love, and struggled to draw on the warmth that she and Angel had discovered there. She willed the magick to fill her... to fill Angel... chase away the nothing she could feel slowly chipping away at her consciousness... her sanity.

((Angel, please hold on!))

Suddenly, there was nothing. No pain, no screaming, just... emptiness.

Buffy was instantly wide-awake once more. Whatever had been happening to Angel was done.

For better or worse.

As she struggled to her feet, no less than ten vampires appeared instantly in the center of the room... all practically giants.

"Well, well..." she began, but never got a chance to finish her forced quip. The vamps descended on her, quickly shackling and gagging her before she could react.

((Oh, great. Angel's dead and I've got a mouthful of filthy cotton.))

She choked on a half-sob, half-hysterical laugh. Angel....

As the room where they had spent their final hours together vanished before her eyes, a whole new pain settled on her chest, she thought that maybe her heart had finally had enough and just collapsed on her. Too much loss... too many hopes dashed... too many awesome responsibilities... and now no one left to help her bear the burden.

((No. He's not gone.))

With a POP! her entourage rematerialized in a corridor, and Buffy's captors dragged her along toward the Hellmouth. It had to be the ritual they were heading toward... that was the only explanation for the sound of a hurricane coming from up ahead.

Her old pal numbness offered to step in and wash her pain away. But this time, she didn't even entertain the notion of letting it take her... of slipping away, and letting the world be someone else's problem for a change. This time, she embraced everything that filled her, knowing for the first time that it was this that made her strong. That helped her survive when so many of her sisters had perished. Her ties to the world...

Spike had been right -- that Death Wish was always there, right on the edge of her consciousness. That little niggling question that never quite went away -- would the other side really be better than here? Would what happened next -- that place where her mother had gone -- be Heaven? Would all of the answers to all of the questions be found there? Was it a place like the Summerland Angel told her his people once believed in, where she and he could finally be together... really together... without the weight of Duty and Calling, Regret and Atonement on their shoulders? What would his lips taste like? Would they be warm? Would he walk with her in the sunshine? Would she really, finally get to be happy?

Yeah... the wondering was there... the hunger for relief from all of this. But for her, the Ties were stronger. For them... for her family, her friends, the world... for them, she would leave those questions unanswered for as long as she possibly could.

Instead of running, denying, or buckling under the pressure, she let the pain fill her. The love and loss, grief and joy, gratitude and regret. The guilt. The hope. All of it. She channeled all of the experiences of the past five years of her life into that burning well of power that Angel's love had finally helped her touch, and she could feel the resulting magick humming loudly in her blood.

As she walked, she *felt*... really felt, for the first time in as long as she could remember. She let it all flow and build until she knew that she was all she had the potential to be... she was pure... perfectly powerful. A weapon.

*The* weapon. And Death was her gift. She intended to give it well.


	40. Chapter 40

Glory surveyed the scene of what would soon be her ultimate victory with a rush of pure joy. Everything was perfect. Not a minion or sacrifice out of place, her Key suspended a few feet over the Hellmouth, and the air fairly choked with her magick.

She was finally going home. It was all she could do not to dance as she chanted.

The magick expanded quickly now as she focused once more on Dawn. The girl had, thankfully, finally stopped crying and seemed to be in some kind of catatonic shock.

Good. A quiet Key was a pleasant and easy to magickally eviscerate Key.

The entrance of the slut from Wolfram & Hart, with her minions' cargo of a pretty badly beat up looking Soul Boy barely, registered in Glory's consciousness. Ultimately, they were unimportant. Sure, a powerful soul like the one the vampire was supposed to have would be a bonus... but only that. She didn't much care what happened to either him or the demon bimbo, at this point. Just so long as her ninth sacrifice was intact.

No sooner had she thought about it, then that very sacrifice appeared, calmly allowing herself to be led to the open space at the Northernmost point of the Hellmouth.

Glory chuckled when she saw the gag, and levitated downward to where the Slayer was now chained to the other eight humans. Floating a foot or two above the blonde, she smiled.

"Gee, Buffy. The bondage look really works for you. Very classy."

Buffy gave no reaction at all beyond tracking Glory with her gaze, which pissed the goddess off to no end. Not to mention that there was no pain or fear in her eyes... just cold hatred.

"Hm. Well, I can't have you being all stoic and soldiery when Darla comes to suck you dry, now can I?" She turned to where the vampiress had chained Angel to a nearby wall, then back at Buffy again. "Your honey's not looking so good. A little... I don't know... soulless around the edges, I'm afraid. Now that I think about it... maybe I should let *him* drain you, instead of his Sire. That'd certainly pick up the pace of this party!"

Still no reaction from the Slayer but the cold stare. Glory shrugged. "Whatever. You' ll all be dead in a few minutes either way. Enjoy!"

The goddess floated away again, and Buffy watched her rise to where Dawn hovered, some twenty feet above.

She clicked instantly into plan mode, estimating how many feet up and away from the walls her sister was... took note of everyone and everything around her, hoping to find some way to get up there.

Buffy was glad that she couldn't see Angel behind her. Right now she needed to concentrate, and if she saw what was happening to him, she knew full well she'd fall apart.

Darla watched Glory resume her chanting, but in a moment even that sound was drowned out as the magick kicked up a notch. The vampire smiled up at her bound lover, who was conscious once again, but staring out with vacant eyes.

"Soon, Angelus... Just a few moments more."

The sound of storm and fury increased by the moment, electricity crackling in the air all around. Glory's lackeys began to chant and dance in a circle outside the ring of chained sacrifices, each wielding an enormous knife and mimicking slashing motions with them around the throat of each trembling human as they passed.

Buffy remained stone still and expressionless, ignoring the whoosh of warm air she felt every time one of the knives rushed past her. Her body was humming with power both from within and without, and she fairly itched to be out of her bounds and unleash her growing rage on every demon in her reach. Just a few minutes... then the others would come, and she would finally be in the game.

Glory's voice grew louder, expanding and echoing above even the ear-splitting clamor of the tempest growing around her. As the chant reached a peak, the aura of energy that surrounded Glory shot outward, a chain of red light that poured over Dawn and down, connecting both of them to the sacrifices below in a blinding ring.

The energy hit Buffy like a brick, and she found herself suddenly frozen solid. No way to move, no way to speak, and as a bolt of red lightning crashed into the gaping maw of the Hellmouth at her feet, and the chamber rumbled furiously, she felt panic begin to threaten... like claustrophobia and terror of dying rolled up into one really awful sensation. She felt like she was going to throw up, but as paralyzed as she was, her stomach didn't even clench.

The other eight humans began to scream, the sound of their voices melding until they were one with the growing cacophony in the chamber, and the Slayer herself joined in, choking on the gag in her mouth in an effort to make her own terror heard.

The minions ceased their dancing and stepped back, eight vampires coming to take their place. With an audible snap, Buffy found herself turned around, facing the opposite direction...

And staring right into the fangy leer of Darla.

"Time to die, homewrecker," she growled, and leaned in for the kill.

Buffy couldn't even close her eyes. She could only stand stone still, watching death coming for her.

She had always thought she would die fighting. That, more than anything, occupied her thoughts in those last moments... that Angel had sacrificed himself, her sister would perish, the world would end, and Buffy hadn't even raised a fist to try and stop it.

The longest living Slayer in history would fail, just like all the others before her.

((I love you, Angel. I'm sorry.))

But just as she thought she should be feeling fangs pierce her flesh, Buffy instead felt a rush of cold air rocket across her face, pushing the vampiress forcibly away from the circle. Darla gasped, the air cracked as though it had broken, and the Slayer was suddenly free -- able to turn her head and see...

All Hell breaking loose.

***

Faith felt the magick break, a palpable release of tension in the chamber, and she and Spike immediately rushed inside.

Chaos didn't even begin to describe what they found.

Demons of every imaginable shape and size scattered all over the chamber in an effort to staunch the sudden influx of soldiers. Pockets of fighting immediately broke out as four small groups ran for the compass points of the room. Faith took a quick visual sweep... found where Buffy and Angel were chained, the former struggling against her bounds and the latter hanging slack from the nearby wall, with some skinny blonde chick chanting frantically over him.

Darla. That had to be his big bitch of a Sire. And if she was still doing magick to him...

Maybe he wasn't gone yet, and there was still a chance for Faith to finally pay back some small part of the debt she owed Angel.

With a battle cry that echoed even above the tempest of Glory's magick, Faith flew across the cave, kicking and slicing through anything that got in her path.

The Hell and high water was here, and she was ready to test her mettle to face it.

With a final bounding leap, she arrived behind Darla, and immediately snapped upright, landing a booted foot in the middle of the vampire's back. She stumbled into her Childe, and then spun, hissing in rage at the interruption.

"COME ON, BITCH!" Faith screeched at her, "What's the matter? Can't fight someone who 's not tied up?"

Snarling, the demon advanced on her. "One dead Slayer or two," she roared, "Makes little difference to me!"

***

It took some time to reach the southernmost point of the cave. Willow had to fight to keep she and Tara at the middle of their group as they ran, and not get sucked into the battle that now raged all around them. When they finally reached their destination, she took her lover's hands. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the apocalypse vanished, leaving nothing but the two of them and the magick that automatically sparked to life when they touched.

Tara smiled. Willow returned it, then spoke the first words of the spell. "We are fire. Light of life. Purifying flame. Where we burn there can be no evil."

Her lover took a deep breath. "And by our presence, we call the south... Phoenix rising."

As they chanted, so too did the other three pairs of magick users -- Giles and Anya in the West ("We are water. Womb of life. Soothing liquid. Where we flow, there can be no evil." "And by our presence, we call the West... thunderstorm rising."); Wesley and Cordelia in the East ("We are Air. Breath of life. Sweeping winds. Where we rush, there can be no evil." "And by our presence, we call the East... hurricane rising."); and Carl and one of his soldiers in the North ("We are Earth. Ground of life. Nourishing soil. Where we stand, there can be no evil." "And by our presence, we call the North... earthquake rising.") When all four had finished their initial words, the storm whipping around them abruptly stopped.

The fighting didn't ebb for a moment, but the interruption in the magick caused Glory to falter. She spun in the air beside Dawn, shooting a hateful glare on each group of spellcasters.

"OH NO YOU DON'T!" she roared, raising her hands, and shot a fireball toward the south. Willow saw it coming, but knew they'd never move in time. Quickly, she traced a sigil in the air and yanked Tara behind her.

The fireball reached the blocking spell and hovered for a moment, so close that Willow could smell her hair singing.

Then it vanished with a hiss. Not taking a moment to recover, she took Tara's hands again and immediately resumed the chant.

***

Spike felt another sudden release of magickal pressure in the air, like somebody opened an airplane door in mid-flight. He stumbled backwards for a moment, but recovered quickly, once more tearing with fists and fangs through the seemingly endless throngs of demons that blocked his path to the Slayer. The original Slayer, that is. He'd seen Faith run off like a berzerker toward his GrandSire and Darla, and figured it was then left to him to save Buffy.

It took some time, what with the raging storm and the fluctuating magickal pressure, but he finally made it to where Buffy and the other humans were chained. Without preamble, he grabbed the chains at her wrists, and gave a roar as he yanked with all of his strength.

Nothing happened.

"FUCK!" he screamed, and desperately tried again, this time with the manacles at her feet. Still no give. Probably magick.

Buffy grabbed his shirt and yanked him upward. "Forget about me! Help Dawn!"

Spike looked up to where Buffy's gaze pointed, and gasped to see Dawn hanging in mid-air. He looked back at the Slayer for a moment, knowing this might be the last time he'd see her.

"I'll get her, Pet," he vowed gently, "Or die trying." Then he spun and disappeared back into the riot.

Buffy watched the vampire run off and wondered... could he really learn to be good? She shook the thought away. No time for philosophy now. Faith and Darla were struggling a few feet to the left, leaving her view of Angel unobstructed.

He stood staring into space, seemingly unaware of the chaos all around him. Buffy fought to still her mind and focus her energy on sending the power to him, but couldn 't stop her heart from skittering in her chest long enough to concentrate.

"ANGEL!" she finally resorted to screaming, "ANGEL, PLEASE WAKE UP!!!"

The vampire didn't so much as flinch. Buffy renewed her futile struggles against the magickal chains.

Glory's voice rose to a fever pitch above them, and the room echoed with a ripping sound as a portal began to open a few feet behind Buffy. She glanced over her shoulder, only to be buffeted by a fetid gust of hot wind.

The veil was tearing.

Darla gave a shout of triumph when she saw it, and with a single word, sent Faith flying across the chamber into the far wall, where the secondary Slayer crumbled into a heap and went still. The blonde vampire unchained her Childe, and completed the final casting.

Buffy watched in horror as a putrid, murky grey light shot from the end of Darla's fingertips, snaking outward and finally plunging straight into Angel's midsection. His back arched, and he let out a scream that the Slayer knew would haunt her until the end of her days.

Which actually might turn out to be right now, if things kept going the way they were. No matter how hard she fought, she couldn't break the chains, and every time Glory's magick rose between Willow's attempts to cut it off, she found herself frozen again.

Her heart lurched in her chest as Angel stood upright once more, his eyes clear, and began stalking toward her, followed closely by his Sire. He got a foot away and stared at her for a moment, then his mouth crawled into a vicious leer.

"Hello, lover," he purred. Darla laughed with delight.

Buffy screamed.

***

Dawn was certain her head was going to explode at any moment from all the power rushing through and around her. She could see everything from up here... the four groups of people frantically chanting and fighting, the place where Faith lay still against the base of the wall... Angel slowly stalking toward her sister, seemingly oblivious to the war that had broken out everywhere...

She could see Spike scaling the wall behind them, too. But she couldn't move. Couldn' t scream. She could only hang there and watch as the world came to an end.

Glory caught Spike halfway through his climb, and with a wave her of her arm, tossed him unceremoniously across the chamber, sending him crashing to the floor below. She levitated herself and Dawn higher, settling them finally near a ledge no less than fifty feet above the Hellmouth.

"Time to bleed, Girl!" she cried, and Dawn could only watch as the glow that had slowly been growing around the goddess all day intensified, and she bellowed an incantation as she raised her bladed scepter.

Just as the second wave of Willow and the others' magick hit.

Dawn felt whatever was supporting and binding her break, and was finally able to scream as she and Glory plummeted toward the canyon of the Hellmouth, a hundred feet below.

***

Buffy's eyes never left Angel's as she stood before her, now in full game face, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure where to begin," he drawled, "What do you think, love? Slow draining? Gutting her, maybe?"

Darla had to resist the strong urge to break into a jig on the spot. She could feel the murderous intentions of her Most Favoured flowing off him in cold waves. She remembered that feeling so well... somebody was about to die horribly.

Unfortunately, at this particular moment, his little bout of psychological terrorism was likely to get them both killed. The fighting was spreading quickly and growing closer to where they stood by the moment.

She approached Angelus, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, rolling his eyes. "What is it, Darla? I'm busy, here."

"Now is not the best time for play, darling. We have to go. Now."

Angelus gave her a petulant frown. "I'm not letting her get away this time."

Darla sighed. Still the spoiled child he'd always been. "Fine. Then we'll have to take her with us." She approached the Slayer, who was once again frozen by the magick. "Ready for a little trip, slut? My boy wants to save you for later."

Buffy couldn't respond, of course, and Darla was almost overcome with laughter. She heard shouting and swordplay coming closer, and saw the Key and Glory's luminescence growing above them. The maelstrom escalated, making it increasingly hard to stand still.

Teasing the soon-to-be-late Slayer would have to wait. She uttered the releasing spell for the chains, and grinned as her lover caught the paralyzed Slayer and flung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

He turned to look at her with a smile that melted her heart, and offered his arm.

Always the gentleman, her boy.

"I believe you mentioned something about Brazil," he said.

Darla tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, and let her lead him into the fray.

***

Spike shook his head as consciousness slowly returned, and he managed to focus his vision.

He wasn't exactly glad about it when it did. Bolts of lighting and fireballs flew everywhere as Glory's magick went haywire. He felt the continuing changes in air pressure as Red and the other Scoobies broke the hold of the power for a moment, and the goddess and Dawn once again fell downward before Glory was finally able to counteract the spells.

The next time it happened, he was ready. He waited for the pressure to ease once more, and in a single motion, used all of his preternatural strength to launch himself from the floor, flying toward the place where he predicted Dawn would plummet.

He caught the girl and landed hard on the other side of the Hellmouth, breaking her fall with his body. Spike bit back a scream as he felt his arm snap, but scooped Dawn up in the other, making a mad dash for the nearest exit.

Then he caught a glimpse of Darla and Angelus, fighting their way to another doorway...

With Buffy hanging limp over his GrandSire's shoulder.

"NO!" he screamed, and turned, searching frantically for a friendly face. One of the Forsaths stood a few feet away, panting over the dust of a vanquished foe. Spike sprinted over to it, shoving Dawn into the creature's arms.

"GET HER OUT! NOW! Run, and don't stop until *I* come and find you!" He commanded, and upon the demon's nod, turned back to where Darla and Angelus had just been.

No way was he letting them take the Slayer. With another furious battle cry, he leapt across the space between them, tackling Angel and sending Buffy and Darla flying.

Both male vampires were immediately on their feet, facing off.

"Ah, William. Come to join us, have you?" the dark haired demon grinned.

"Like fuck, I am! I've been waiting a whole bloody HELL of a long time for this, *Mate*!" Spike spat, yanking a stake from his back pocket and advancing on his elder.

"Well then, let's see what you've learned since last we met, shall we?" Angelus replied, and jumped him.

***

Glory's screams were terrifying and frantic as she righted herself from the last fall, and scoured the chamber, desperately searching for her key.

She found it in the arms of a demon that was fighting its way toward the exit.

"FREEZE!" she shrieked, and fired into the throng. Bodies exploded into flame and gore all around.

The tear in the veil between the worlds widened as her magick grew.

Time was quickly running out. As the vortex widened, it began pulling everything in the chamber toward it. The cries of ally and foe alike echoed off the cavern walls.

But the key was still being taken toward freedom. Glory willed herself lower, and with a banshee shriek, flew after it.

***

Buffy woke to a dragging sensation, and when she managed to open her eyes, found herself skidding across the cavern floor, heading right toward the Hellmouth. Flipping over, she scrambled to find some purchase, but the ground beneath her was almost perfectly flat.

"ANGEL!" she screamed, "SPIKE! HELP ME!"

Angel kicked Spike in the face and spun toward the sound of Buffy's outcry. Without a moment's hesitation, he tore furiously into the gale that was flushing everything toward the crater.

Darla roared as she realized she had been duped, and leapt for her Childe, but came up short when something tackled her from behind. She spiraled a few feet before regaining her footing and standing up.

To find herself facing the matching expressions of hatred marked on Cordelia and Kate 's faces.

The brunette raised her crossbow. "This is for what you did to Angel, you bitch," she hissed, and fired.

***

Spike saw Buffy careening toward the Hellmouth, and Angelus running after her. *Still* going after the Slayer, even though he was likely to get sucked into the void right along with her. Stupid bastard just couldn't let things go, souled or not. He pushed himself forward, then let the momentum of the vortex drag him toward the crater.

Angel reached the edge just as Buffy disappeared into it, barely managing to catch the very end of the chains that still dangled from her wrists. He crashed to his belly, and felt himself sliding toward the same fate, desperately struggling for something to hold on to and stop their forward motion.

Something big and heavy crashed into the back of his head, and he let go of the chains as darkness took him. He managed to shake it off, and looked up in time to see Spike now in possession of Buffy's chains, but now also plummeting toward the abyss.

"WILL!" he screamed, and dove for them. He caught the hem of his GrandChilde's jeans and yanked him backward.

"FUCKER!" the blond screeched, and kicked at him with all of his might.

Angel simultaneously fought to avoid Spike's thrashing feet, and tried to get hold of Buffy's bounds once more. The pull was only getting stronger.

"Spike, it's ME! Stop fighting!" he hollered.

"Oh, yeah, right, that's bloody likely!" Spike shouted back, and dug his heel into a shallow depression in the very edge of the crater, furiously kicking the other leg to dislodge Angel's grip.

"I still have my soul, you idiot! Help me get her out!" Angel roared, reaching forward to clock Spike upside the head.

The younger vampire was stunned for a moment by the blow, but managed to hold on. He had a split second to decide if his bastard ancestor was telling the truth, or if he was about to get Buffy killed.

"Oh, Sod it all!" he relented finally, and stopped thrashing.

Angel grabbed the younger vampire's arm and pulled, fighting the combined weight of Spike and Buffy in addition to the fierce pull of the Hellmouth. He skidded to his knees, muscles straining with the effort, until he saw one of Buffy's small hands grasping the edges of the crater. With a cry, he dove for that. The feeling of her small, warm fingers clutching at his hand sent a rush of relief through him as Spike grabbed her other, and the two of them worked together to pull her out and away.

The vortex's draw abruptly ceased with another one of their friends' castings, and both the Slayer and the two vampires fell to the floor.

Angel quickly jumped to his feet, and offered one hand to Spike and the other to Buffy, yanking them up to stand beside him. The younger vampire stepped away with a dark scowl and watched as the Slayer flew into his GrandSire's arms without a moment's hesitation.

"Watch it, pet," he warned, still not fully convinced that Angel was still... well, Angel.

Buffy didn't hear Spike's objections. She was too busy smothering Angel's face and neck with kisses. He returned them all, crushing her close for a few moments before setting her down once more.

"And Cordelia thinks she's an actress," he grinned down at her.

"You should get a lifetime achievement award for that recurring role," she smiled back, then quickly sobered. "Where's Dawn?"

"Gave her to the Forsaths," Spike informed her, " They were supposed to get her out."

The Slayer quickly scanned the room, and finally located the place where a dozen of the mercenaries and several of Riley's men were fighting in a tight circle formation, engaging both foot soldiers and Glory herself as they struggled collectively toward the exit.

"There!" she shouted, pointing.

Angel and Spike spun in tandem to look. The elder vampire reached out and took his lover's hand.

"You ready?" he called above the din.

"I was born ready," she replied with an answering smile.

Angel squeezed her hand as they looked deeply into one another's eyes for a moment, then he elbowed a minion running by, snatching its sword as it fell. Hand in hand, he and Buffy plowed a bloody path toward the place where Dawn was trapped.

***

Faith woke to a crushing pain in her skull. She forced her eyes open and found the entire cavern enveloped in chaos.

Everything was on fire. What creatures weren't somehow dug deeply into the ground, fully engaged in bloody battle, were flying through the air, vanishing into the vortex of crackling energy that had begun spilling out of the Hellmouth.

She cursed as she struggled to her feet, taking a quick inventory of her injuries. Sprained wrist, couple of broken ribs, and probably every inch of her skin covered in scrapes, cuts and bruises. Nothing that would kill her. She looked around. It was hard to see any one person or another through the smoke, but finding Glory turned out to be no problem at all.

And where Glory was, she found Dawn. The goddess once again had the girl levitating, rising slowly away from the soldiers protecting her. Glory threw fireballs wildly into the throng, evaporating a couple of mercenary demons that had managed to hold on to the edges of Dawn's gown. Dawn herself was limp, her eyes closed, and though Faith couldn't see any marks on her, there was no way to tell if she was dead or not.

Not that it mattered. Without another thought to what she would do when she reached them, Faith poured on the Slayer speed, and sprinted in their direction. Glory hovered at least 10 feet or so off the ground with her back to the Slayer. Faith gathered all of her remaining strength and launched herself at the flying goddess.

Glory screamed as she and Faith flew forward, crashed into the wall and fell to earth. The magick once again interrupted, Dawn was no longer supported, and also fell.

"NO!" Buffy shrieked when she saw her sister crumple to the ground with a sickening thud . "DAWNIE!" She tried to pull away from Angel and go to her, but her lover held fast and began slicing his way through the battle in that direction.

Willow felt as though she were on fire. She heard Carl bellowing from all the way across the cavern.

"IT IS TIME! WE MUST DELIVER THE ABOMINATION INTO THE HELLMOUTH!"

Glory heard the announcement as well, and fired a bolt of red lightning at Faith. The Slayer jumped away, but not in time. She went down in a smoking heap, and didn't rise again.

The goddess glanced desperately around the chamber. The four compass points now glowed with golden fire, connecting in a cross shaped line of every that converged at a point in the center of the tear in the ethereal over the Hellmouth. There was no way to complete the ritual now... the sacrifices were gone. Enraged, she rushed toward where she had last seen the Key.

Buffy sobbed over her sister's still form, oblivious to Angel standing over them, fighting off anything that dared to approach.

It was done. Her sister was dead. The ritual was over. All that was left now was destroying the fiend that did all of this... that ripped her already crumbling world apart. A pure, blinding rage boiled through the Slayer as she raised her eyes. The demon that killed her sister flew toward them like a fiery harpy, her human countenance quickly breaking down as the magick weakened.

With a feral roar, Buffy jumped to her feet, shoving a shocked Angel out of her way, and launched herself skyward.

"BUFFY, NO!" he screamed, throwing himself after them.

Slayer and demon goddess were locked in mortal combat, flying 50 feet or more above the floor and rising higher by the moment. They crashed into one wall, and Buffy used that purchase to kick them both out and away at the same time she plunged her stake into Glory's stomach.

Angel fought desperately to reach them, but was thwarted by a rush of no less than twenty minions attacking him. As he fell beneath their combined weight, he heard Carl bellowing:

"NOW! THEY ARE OVER THE CONVERGENCE!!!"

Time dragged to slow motion as the minions pinning Angel down scrambled away from him in a futile attempt to help their mistress. He struggled to his feet just in time to see Dawn suddenly rise, levitating from the cavern floor, her body now glowing a bright mint green. She flew past him, screaming a chant in some strange magickal tongue, and all other fighting ceased. Every set of eyes in the room fell on the Key, and the last thing Angel saw was the light shooting out of Dawn's outstretched hands... her mouth... her eyes... everywhere, blazing straight into his chest and out through his back, finally rocketing across the chamber, and striking Buffy and Glory simultaneously.

"BUFFFYYYYYY!" he screamed...

And the universe exploded into light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am a giant fluffy mushball, I wrote TWO endings to Worlds of Longing: a schmoopy one, and a darker one. I've heard people say you should read the happier one first, then read the sad one. Not sure why...maybe the former girds your loins against the latter? I don't know. But here they are:
> 
> Fluffy Ending: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/7735528/chapters/17650672>
> 
> Darker Ending: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/7735528/chapters/17650600>


	41. Lighter Ending

In the inky darkness, Angel could hear her calling his name. Softly... gently... but she sounded so far away, and he couldn't seem to find her in the shadows.

He was afraid what he would see when he opened his eyes. There were still spots in his vision from the blinding lights... still the echoes of demons screaming, and Glory's flesh exploding. Carnage. Fire. Pain. If he opened his eyes, he would have to see it all again. And Buffy...

But he had to look. Had to. They had fought so hard... their plan had worked exactly the way they thought it would. The well of energy the two of them had built was just enough to help him shield himself from Darla's magick, subverting his soul only enough to fool her into setting Buffy free.

But then, things had gone so horribly wrong. They knew they could act as a conduit for the magick their friends' raised, but no one had expected the Key to burst free of its own accord... they hadn't planned on it being Dawn's power that finally ended the battle.

Now he had to know. Who survived? Who perished? What of the world was left? The comfortable ignorance... the soothing darkness of unconsciousness had to be cast away, and the consequences dealt with.

Angel forced his lids open and for a moment, could still see only darkness. But as his acute night vision kicked in, the details of his surroundings came into focus... a room. Tiny lights. Machines beeping. Dazed, he tried to remember where he was and how he'd come to be there. A hospital? Why would they bring him to a hospital? He was already dead.

After a few long, deep breaths to clear his head, he began to recall the events that followed the explosion. When the energy finally dissipated and the smoke cleared, and he found himself free of both the magick and his brief unconsciousness, he'd found Buffy crumpled and broken near the very edge of the now-dormant Hellmouth -- mere inches from having been sealed within right along with Glory. He remembered screaming her name over and over... scooping her up in his arms... running at top speed toward what had been the perimeter's outer barrier... his confusion making him forget about everyone else. He had practically thrown Buffy in one of the Hum V's, and sped to the hospital... screamed at the emergency personnel that there had been an accident, and she was dying...

The blood... How could she survive, having lost all that blood?

That was five days ago, and he had been sitting here beside her bed ever since, watching her still form grow paler and weaker by the day.

"Angel..."

He shook his head and lowered his weary gaze to find his beloved looking up at him through two black eyes and the swelling of a broken nose. The distended and bruised remains of her mouth were twisted into a macabre facsimile of a smile.

Angel didn't think he'd ever seen anything so beautiful before in his very long life.

"Oh, God... Buffy," he gasped softly, reaching out to take her hand. He choked back the urge to break down in relief... dive into the bed with her and crush her against him. He took another long, shaky breath and forced himself to calm. "Hi. I was worried about you. How do you feel?"

Buffy gave his hand a weak squeeze. "Like I fell a hundred feet into a Hellmouth after being bitten by a vampire and hit by a Mack Truck."

He smiled. "Better, then."

She nodded stiffly. "Better than dead... I think."

Angel leaned forward and gently kissed her swollen lips. "I thought I lost you," he whispered as he pulled away, tenderly brushing the only few inches of her cheek that weren't bruised.

Tears welled up in her eyes. "No such luck. You're stuck with me, pal."

They gazed at one another in relieved silence. Angel brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly again and again.

Buffy finally spoke. "We're not in Hell--I don't think--so I guess we... won. But..." she closed her eyes, afraid of the answer to her next question. "Everyone else?"

"They're fine," he reassured her. "Everyone is fine. A little tired and beat up... some burns and broken bones, but... I think that's to be expected after a thwarted apocalypse."

She opened her eyes again, and tears began slipping down her face. "Dawn?"

Angel fought back his own tears as he smiled. "They released her yesterday. She's with your Dad and Giles getting something to eat downstairs."

Even through the damage on her features, Buffy's surprise at the revelation about her father and father figure was clear. "Wow. Those are two names I never thought I'd hear together."

"I think they came to an understanding. It happens sometimes, when men fight side by side."

The Slayer rolled her eyes, chuckling, and began to struggle to sit up. She felt like every inch of her body was broken, and failed miserably.

"Hey, hey..." Angel chided her, "Relax."

"I'm thirsty," she whined. "My mouth feels like I ate fifty pounds of sand."

He got up from his chair and poured her a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand, and sat down on the edge of her bed, propping her gently up against the pillows as he held her glass while she sipped through a straw.

"How long have I been out?" she asked after she drained the water, looking at his torn and bloodstained clothes.

Angel set the glass back down and looked deeply into her eyes. "The longest five days of my life," he murmured, and leaned toward her once more, unable to resist the compulsion to kiss her again. There had been so many times in the past few days when despair had dragged down on him, and he didn't know if he would ever taste her sweet lips again.

She didn't stop him.

"Okay, Angel. I know you don't want to leave, but you *have* to get some... Buffy!"

The lovers reluctantly broke their kiss and both turned to find Cordelia standing wide-eyed in the doorway.

"That's what he was trying to do," Buffy quipped. "Hey, Cor," she greeted with a little wave.

"You're not dead!" the seer exclaimed, then corrected herself, "I mean... you're awake!"

The Slayer nodded. "Sort of."

The door opened again, and this time admitted Kate, Willow and Wesley, all come to back Cordelia up in insisting that Angel go home and get some sleep. They froze for a moment when they saw Buffy, but Willow broke the daze, giving out a joyous squeal as she ran to hug her best friend.

"Ow! Um... ow!" Buffy half-yelped, half-laughed.

Willow pulled away, wiping at her eyes. "Oh, Buffy. I'm sorry! I'm just so..."

The blonde smiled and reached a hand up to grasp her arm. "It's okay, Will. I'm glad to see you, too."

"Why don't I see if I can't find a doctor," Wesley offered, and hustled out.

No sooner had the door swung shut behind him, than it opened yet again, and in a moment, the room was packed with people. The last to arrive were Giles, Hank, and Dawn. Angel rose from his seat on the bed and backed away to give the sisters room. The youngest Summers approached slowly, almost looking sheepish.

Buffy gave her a brilliant smile, and reach both arms up. "Come here."

The girl instantly burst into tears and dove into her big sister's arms. They clutched one another, sobbing for a long while, leaving not a dry eye in the room.

Buffy finally drew her sister away and began inspecting her carefully for damage. Other than a sprained wrist and some bumps and bruises that seemed to look far worse than they actually were, Dawn was fine. Satisfied, Buffy laid back once more, and her sister climbed up into the space recently vacated by Angel, and took Buffy's hands.

The others began slowly filtering out of the room to give the women space. Angel moved over, resting one hand on Dawn's shoulder, and used the other to brush a stray wisp of hair out of Buffy's eyes. Their misty green slowly tore away from Dawn and lit on him.

He gave her a soft smile. "I'm going to talk to the doctor. I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

Buffy nodded, smiling even through her tears as she gazed up at him, then at her sister, and back again. Angel couldn't remember ever seeing her so happy. "Okay," she replied softly, nuzzling her cheek against his hand. "But... please don't go too far."

"Never," he vowed, and leaned down for one more tender kiss, then rose and gave Dawn a wink before he left the room.

As the door swung shut behind him, he heard Dawn exclaim, "Did you see what I did? That was SO cool! Do you think I could do it again if I tried? I mean, do you think I have, like, powers now? Maybe I could help you slay!"

And Buffy's stern reply. "No. Absolutely no way."

"Come on, Buffy. It'd be easy! I'd just zap them, and they'd go POOF! and you wouldn't even have to.."

"No."

"But..."

"No, Dawn, and that's final!"

Angel leaned back against the wall just outside, and finally burst into grateful tears.

*** Buffy made him tell her the whole story at least ten times over the next couple of days. How he had used the magick they created to shield his soul... how Cordelia had finally dusted Darla, and done a spell that Carl gave her to make sure she *stayed* dusted, this time... how Dawn had suddenly risen and vaporized Glory, sending both Buffy and the remains of the goddess plummeting toward the Hellmouth, and how, once Angel and the others had taken the worst of the injured away, Carl and Willow had stayed behind and sealed Sunnydale's mystical convergence forever.

"Not even a god could break that seal now," he promised her, "And Carl says the negative energy that focused here is already shifting. Demons are moving out like no tomorrow. Before you know it, Sunnydale will be nothing but a sleepy little town in Southern California."

"With a really twisted number of churches and graveyards," Buffy added with a happy sigh, "Wow. I never thought I'd live to see the day."

Angel smiled down at her, gently brushing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. He couldn't seem to touch her enough lately. "There've been a lot of miracles around here lately."

Buffy cast her gaze away, and her smile faded. "So... when are you going back to LA?"

He closed his eyes and prepared to give her the answer he'd finally worked out, but before he could, the door opened, revealing Riley and the biggest bouquet of wildflowers Buffy had ever seen.

Silence heavy enough to crush them all fell over the room as he entered.

"Hey, Buffy."

Angel scowled, standing up straighter.

"Hi Riley. Come on in," Buffy invited.

The two men glared at one another as the soldier came closer, leaning down to give Buffy a chaste kiss on the cheek before setting the flowers down amongst the virtual jungle on the nightstand.

"How are you feeling?' he asked softly, giving her hand a squeeze.

Angel remained standing inches behind Buffy's ex, arms cross menacingly across his chest.

Buffy did her best to smile at Riley. The tension in the air was more than enough to suffocate her. Or make her puke. It was ten times worse than she remembered the last time they'd been in the same room together. Had she missed something, here?

"Well, you know... all in one piece, I guess. Just dented some."

Riley glanced up at Angel, then back at her again. "Buffy, do you think we can..."

The vampire snarled possessively, deep in his throat, eliciting a dark look from his love.

"Angel. Just give us a minute? Riley and I need to talk."

He stood taller still, his expression darkening. "No," he stated unequivocally.

Both Buffy and Riley started in shock. The latter quickly recovered, scowling angrily as he got in Angel's face.

"The lady asked you to leave," he snarled.

"The lady has nothing to say to you," Angel snarled back.

"Um, excuse me," the lady in question objected, "Grown woman, fully in charge of her faculties, here."

"Who the Hell do you think you are to decide that?" Riley snapped.

"*I'm* her lover. And you... are *nothing* to her," Angel barked, "In fact, after what you did, you're lucky I don't remove you. Permanently."

"Oh, God," Buffy moaned, collapsing back on her pillows.

"What *I* did? That's funny. Last I heard, you tried to kill her and all of her friends. Then you ran off to LA to help the hopeless or whatever, leaving *me* to help her pick up the pieces."

"Mm. Right. Until you decided letting demon whores suck you off was more important than your duty to her."

"At least I never tried to EAT her!"

Angel gave the boy a cold, demonic smirk. "Your lack of sexual prowess isn't my problem, boy."

Buffy shot upright in bed at that, giving the two men a firm shove away from one another.

"Enough!" she barked, "You are NOT throwing down in my damn HOSPITAL room!"

Angel and Riley took a step away from one another, but continued to exchange violent glares until Buffy grabbed Angel's hand, and pulled him to her side.

"Please. Let me have a couple of minutes," she pleaded, trying to reassure him with her eyes that this was closure... no more.

His dangerous frown quickly melted into something more closely resembling a pout. "I'm not leaving you alone with him."

She gave her lover a soft smile. "You don't have to protect me from Riley."

"Hmph," Angel grunted, looking away.

Buffy tucked her hand under his chin, and forced him to look at her once more.

"Please?"

He sighed and relaxed slightly. He knew, intellectually, that he had to let her do this. But it didn't mean he had to like it. "Fine," he huffed, and turned away, meeting Riley's angry gaze again as he moved toward the door. "I'll be *right* outside."

It was half a promise to Buffy, and half an unmistakable threat to the younger man. The Slayer rolled her eyes at him as he stepped out, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Once he was gone, Riley turned back to her. "I *really* don't like that guy."

"You and Xander can start a club, then," she joked. "Have a seat."

The soldier pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down.

"Riley... I have, um... I wanted to..." she sighed, running a hand through her newly washed hair. "This is a lot harder than I thought it would be."

Riley gave her a tentative smile. "You can just speak your mind, Buffy."

"Okay. There are some things I've been wanting to say to you," she finally managed, struggling to remember even a portion of the speech she had been rolling around in her head since he left. But it seemed as though Angel's reappearance in her life had washed her clean of pain and regret.

"You don't have to say anything," Riley interrupted with an ironic smirk. "I think it's pretty clear who's won, here."

"It's not a matter of winning or losing," Buffy insisted with a frown. "Just... fate, I guess. I think... Angel and I were meant to be together. I know that sounds stupid, but... it's the truth. But you have to know -- I *do* care about you, Riley. More than almost anyone I've ever known, and..."

He reached out and took her hand once more. "Buffy. You don't have to do this. I'm okay."

The Slayer pulled herself up higher on the pillows. "No, I do have to. You were there for me during one of the lowest points of my life. When Angel left, I thought..." she swallowed stiffly, tears stinging her eyes at the memory. "I thought there was something wrong with me if I couldn't be enough to make him stay. But you showed me differently. You helped me learn to like myself again. That I was worthy of being loved. I owe you for that... and so much more."

Riley cast his glance away, blushing.

"You are a wonderful man," she went on, "We had a lot of really great times together. And I want you to know... they meant a *lot* to me. And I'm so, so sorry that I couldn't give you what you wanted... what you deserved."

He glanced up at her once more, and squeezed her hand. "Don't apologize. I was selfish-- I didn't even try to understand what you were going through. I should have listened to you in the first place. I should have been satisfied with what we had..."

Buffy shook her head. "No. You should never *settle*. You were right. I never let you in. I couldn't give you my heart and soul, no matter how hard I tried... how much I wanted to... and I *did*. Want to, I mean. But... I'd already given them. And I guess I'm just the kind of girl who can't take them back to give to somebody else. I'm so sorry for that, Riley. I should have been more honest with you... and with myself... from the start. You deserve someone who can give you everything. You're warm and smart and giving, and you should have someone who can really appreciate you for the gift that you are."

Silence fell over them once more as Riley let her speech sink in.

"Thank you," he finally replied.

Buffy sighed and gave him a warm smile. "I've been waiting a long time to tell you that."

Riley nodded, and they shared a long look before he spoke again. "So... what now? For you, I mean."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I mean... the Hellmouth's closed, my mom's gone..."

He gazed at her sadly. "I'm sorry about Joyce, Buffy."

"Thanks. But... my dad's sticking around for once, so... I don't know. I guess things will get better. I'm not sure what exactly will happen next, but... something will."

"Well, whatever it is," he said softly, bringing her hand to his lips and giving a brief kiss as he got up, "I'm sure it will be wonderful."

He turned to leave.

"Wait. Riley?"

He stopped and looked back at her. "Yeah?"

"Be happy," Buffy said with an affectionate smile, "And thank you. For everything."

He smiled in return. "You're welcome. I'll come by to see you again when you get home."

"'Kay."

Riley had hoped to be able to simply slip out of the room and duck into the nearest stairwell before he finally lost his hard-won cool and broke down (half in relief that Buffy was okay, and half in abject sorrow that the small sliver of hope he'd carried that they would reconcile was dashed), but when he turned and ran hard into a solid wall of muscle, that hope was instantly and thoroughly wiped out.

He looked up. The vampire's expression was decidedly, 'If it wasn't for Buffy, I would disembowel you and dance on your entrails.' Riley was scared, to be certain... but he was far more proud than anything.

"Get out of my way," he spat.

The four inches of height difference between the two men seemed to vanish as Angel got directly in his face.

"I think that you and I need to have a little *talk*, Finn," Angel informed him coldly, leaving absolutely no doubt in the soldier's mind that said 'talk' would involve violence and bloodshed.

Riley gave brief consideration to turning the other cheek, or making some snide comment about the vampire's virility, but the idea of smashing his fists into the dark-haired demon's prettyboy face held a far greater appeal.

"Gladly. Shall we step outside right now?" he asked, then smirked. "Oh. Right. We couldn't talk during the *day*, now, could we?"

If such a thing were possible, Angel's responding smile was even more frightening than his scowl.

"Buffy is going home tomorrow. Why don't we meet once I get her settled in... say, midnight?"

"Fine," Riley snipped.

"I look forward to handing you your ass," Angel chirped brightly as he shoved past the soldier and pushed open the door. "Again."

Riley growled softly to himself as Buffy's lover disappeared into her room.

***

Buffy had sort of been hoping for some alone time with her sister... and then a different sort of alone time with Angel once she finally got home the following afternoon. But the house was packed to the gills with both her friends and his, all wanting to help her get settled in before they returned to their own homes.

She was exhausted and still pretty banged up. A lot of her injuries were magickal, and it seemed like her Slayer powers were taking a lot longer than usual to mend her wounds.

It didn't matter, though. Buffy was happy with the gentle chaos. Every time her still-achy head rang from too much noise, or one of her bruised body parts got jarred, she almost wanted to laugh. After all, this was a sign that the world hadn't ended... continued proof that everyone she loved was still alive. There was no beating that.

It took a while, but Angel finally managed to herd everybody out just before 10 o'clock. He could see Buffy's eyelids dropping, and Dawn was already curled up, sleeping against Spike's shoulder on the couch.

His GrandChilde sat as he had all day, munching on a box of Count Chokula and quietly watching television. Even after all they had been through over the past couple of weeks, Angel was still blown away by the depths of Spike's devotion. And frankly, still incredulous about it.

He stood in the living room doorway, glaring down at the younger vampire. "You too," he whispered loudly, not wanting to wake Dawn, "Out."

Spike didn't bother to look up. "How 'bout 'not'? Where the kid goes, I go," he declared, then stuffed another fistful of dry cereal in his mouth.

Angel sighed wearily. He was tired, too. He'd hardly slept in over a week, himself, and he had an appointment to keep later tonight. If he had to waste energy kicking Spike's ass now...

Buffy's hand came to rest on his arm, and he automatically turned to look at her. Even with her skin still mottled with fading bruises, she took his metaphorical breath away, and he couldn't help but to reach out and touch her, reassuring himself yet again that she was really there.

"Just let him stay," she insisted softly, "He's not hurting anybody, and I think it makes Dawn feel better."

Angel tried to frown, but... it just wasn't happening. Buffy could ask him to rip off his arm and eat it for breakfast, and there was no way he could deny her. Her soft spot for Spike was baffling and annoying -- okay, *infuriating* -- but he imagined that he couldn't blame her. His GrandChilde had risked almost as much of the rest of them through all of this.

"Fine," he relented, and turned to shoot a look at the blond again. "Just don't *touch* anything, all right?"

Spike sneered and rolled his eyes, but didn't move his gaze from the TV. "Yeah, whatever. 'Night, Precious, ya big fag."

Angel snarled, but Buffy stepped between them before he could move to give Spike a badly needed smack upside the head.

She bent down and gave her sister a soft peck on the cheek, and much to Angel's disgust, a matching one to Spike's.

"Goodnight, Spike," she whispered.

The younger vampire fairly beamed at her. "'Night, Slayer. Glad ya didn't buy the farm."

"Thanks," she said, taking Angel's hand, and led him away before he could say a word.

Once they were alone in her bedroom, she shut the door and gave him a look. "Your face is going to freeze like that," she teased when she caught his scowl.

"Excuse me if I think your affection for a soulless demon is misplaced. Not to mention *disgusting*," he griped, kicking off his shoes and plunking down on the bed with a spoiled pout.

Buffy grinned as she pulled off her sweats, leaving only her loose tee-shirt and practical white cotton undies. She approached her lover and stood between his knees, urging his eyes up with a gentle fingertip under his chin.

"Jealousy really isn't attractive on you," she chided, "You should cut Spike some slack."

He drew his frown up to her. "Why?"

"Because... he risked his life for Dawn as much as any of us did. And because I asked you to. Don't you trust me?"

His expression softened as Angel looked into her eyes. "I trust you. I'll *never* trust him," he explained, resting his hands on her hips.

Buffy smiled. "How about we make a deal? We forget about Spike for tonight, and spend some quality time celebrating our total not-deadness instead."

A sly smile snuck slowly across his mouth. "But you're injured... I wouldn't want to hurt you."

She cuddled closer, bringing his face in line with her chest. "I'm the Slayer. I'm built for demon killing, speed and agility, and to take a licking and keep on ticking. So to speak."

Angel chuckled softly, nuzzling the warm valley between her breasts, nosing her flesh through the soft cotton of her shirt. "It's good to know you're as sturdy as a Timex."

"Mmmm," she purred, gently pushing him back onto the bed. "But I'm much more fun than some old watch." She climbed astride his hips and gave a little wiggle.

Angel closed his eyes and sighed happily. "Oh, I don't know. One should never underestimate the value of a good time piece."

Buffy leaned over further, blanketing him with her body and whispering into his ear.

"Too much quipping. Not enough kissing," she insisted, and pressed her lips to his.

Funny--she thought as his tongue slipped into her mouth and brushed against hers, teasing just lightly enough to make her shiver -- All her ouchies just went *poof* at his touch. It was too bad she couldn't market this particular pain reliever. "Angel -- better than Advil."

That was the last really coherent thought she was able to form as his hands wandered over her, his cool hands soothing the heat of her skin. Slayer healing had a definite cost. She'd been itchy and hot ever since she woke up. But Angel was like a gentle balm on her raw nerves, and she was quickly lost in the kiss.

His room-temperature caresses were only one of many perks. Another was definitely his thoroughness and attention to detail. he managed to caress every square inch of her as their passion intensified, his hands smoothing over her thighs, her rear, and up her back, tugging her shirt up and tossing it away before he moved back to do it all again.

She moaned as she pressed her bared flesh against his clothes, even those soft layers of cotton and silk separating them quickly becoming far too much. Buffy rode down from his lips, teasing hers along the edge of his jaw, tasting the corded lines of his throat, a little tremor of pure pleasure tingling through her at his responding gasp.

Too slow. It was all going *way* too slow for her taste. She wanted him--all of him--*now*. The ache and twinge of her healing muscles be damned. In mere seconds, she bit off all the buttons of his shirt, spitting them one by one across the room and tearing the fabric away. He half-moaned, half chuckled beneath her. She glanced up from taking big, gulping mouthfuls of his flesh only long enough to shoot him a hungry smile. Angel watched her through eyes heavy-lidded with lust, one hand tangled in her hair, and the other brushing over her neck and shoulders, urging her on.

As she tore the fly of his slacks open and yanked them down his legs, a thought snuck into the boiling haze of her desire:

They almost died. Both of them. The world had come *this close* to ending. Again. With all the excitement... the terror, joy, and confusion of the past few weeks, Buffy hadn't given that 'almost' more than a passing thought.

But it hit her like a brick, now, and froze her on her knees between Angel's, gazing up the long, lean lines of his naked form.

She almost lost him. Again.

Angel noticed the sudden cessation of her attentions, and opened his eyes to find out what stopped her. Buffy looked at him with a strange, blank expression... a mixture of shock and horror. He quickly sat up.

"Buffy? What's wrong?"

His lover blinked, bringing her gaze up to meet his, sudden tears springing into her big, hazel eyes.

"We... I... I'm..." she stammered, blinking furiously.

"Are you okay?" He rested a gentle hand on either of her bare shoulders. "What, love? Talk to me," he urged softly, unnerved by her sudden shift in demeanor.

"We almost... lost," she whispered. "We all could have died."

As she said the words aloud, the truth of them came rushing up, a cold wave of fear that chilled her blood. She clutched at Angel blindly, grasping desperately at his shoulders, his face... needing to make sure that he was really still there. That she was. They both were. Together. But for how long? How long would they have until they were forced to do it all again?

"Hey," he murmured, pulling her up from the floor and into his lap. He cupped her chin gently in one hand, and brushed her hair from her face with the other. "We *didn't* lose. We're *alive*."

"But..."

"Sh. Stop. Buffy... we won. We drove back the hosts of Hell... together. It doesn't matter what *might* have happened. We're here. Now. That's all that counts."

She looked deeply into the melting chocolate of his eyes, searching for where he kept all that strength... that force that kept him going in the face of what could very well turn out to be an eternity filled with this struggle and pain. She couldn't imagine how it felt to face forever -- true forever -- when the short space of a human lifetime held so much uncertainty.

"I'm going to die, someday," she declared softly. "Even if I win every battle. Even if you're always beside me, someday, it's going to end."

Angel started a little at the blunt truth of her statement. Her mortality, and his lack of it, had once consumed a great deal of his brooding time. But in recent months, most especially since they were reunited, he had pushed that simple fact far back in the recesses of his mind. Even as close as he had come to losing her... even sitting by her hospital bed in the dark for all those cold, frightening days, he had never really let himself believe that she would leave him.

She was Buffy. How could she possibly die?

He knew that she was right. But knowing didn't make it hurt any less. He might know, but he would never understand, and never, ever accept.

"Yes. Someday, it's going to," he concurred, and forced himself to brighten, letting his next words flow through him even as he gave them to Buffy for comfort. "But not now. Not today. We have right now... this moment together. That's enough. And we'll face each new one as it comes."

Buffy sighed, and gave him a tiny smile. "I miss my mom."

He pulled her closer, resting his cheek on top of her head, and rocked her gently. "She would be very proud of you."

She nodded and relaxed against him, and he held her warm little body against his colder one as they sat in companionable, thoughtful silence for a while.

Finally, Buffy pulled away. "You know... there's something really nice about being naked with you."

He couldn't help but grin as his gaze wandered over her. "There's a *lot* of nice things about being naked. One of the many perks of not being dead, I think."

"And being together," she added, and dipped down to kiss him.

They eased back onto the bed once more, and this time, the passion took a more slow, comfortable rolling pace than a raging inferno. Warm, soft waves of love as he pulled her down on top of him, slipping his hands down over her waist, and into the elastic of her panties. Buffy sighed as his strong fingers kneaded her bottom before sliding the cotton down to her knees, catching his toes in the leg band, and kicking them off.

"Nifty trick," she giggled.

"Efficiency is next to Godliness," he teased, breathing heavily in her ear, and thrust his hips upward so their bare pelvises ground together with a sweet friction that nearly made Buffy cry out.

"I thought that was cleanliness," she gasped, running her hands beneath him and clutching his hips.

"Whatever," he moaned, and claimed her mouth once more, ending their exchange.

At least... of words. Their lips were quickly busy doing other work -- licking throats, nibbling shoulders... Buffy once again moved her explorations downward, taking a long, sweet time to press warm, wet kisses over every rise and cut of his perfect muscles... to flick her tongue over his nipples and smile to hear him hiss with pleasure.

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest... her blood rushed through her veins, carrying crests of fire straight between her legs. Her skin hummed with the electricity generated by the sensation of his perfect body beneath her, his moans and sighs of bliss as he stroked her hair...

Buffy concentrated on the taste of him... cool and smooth under her tongue. She followed the cut of his stomach... a path of quivering flesh that led her to the bones of his hips, and finally to the velvet steel of his erection. She had to fight not to giggle at the stupid romance novel reference as it popped in her head, and focused instead on the long, shuddering sigh he gave as she brushed her cheek against his hardness.

She had never gotten the chance to explore him like this before... easily, leisurely. To circle her tongue in a slow, upward spiral from the root, over the tightening foreskin, finally closing her lips around the mushroomed tip. She'd given head before, of course, with Riley. But this, like everything else with Angel, was so different. Before, it had been part of a big, sort of nice blur she labeled "sex"-- something she was supposed to do, because that was what normal people did.

But she wasn't normal. She didn't have a mundane, flatline sort of life. And this wasn't that fabled 'normal guy' that she had been so often told she needed, writhing and crying out softly as she took his length deep into her throat, either.

This was Angel... the great love of her life. The most amazing, extraordinary, beautiful, abnormal thing in her whole twisted, whacked out, abnormal life. She loved touching him... tasting him... because he was *him*, not because that was the next logical move in the big board game of sex.

"God, Buffy... that feels so good. Oh... uhhh... don't stop, please," he groaned deep in his belly, and she sighed, humming softly over him. That voice. His voice. The only one that could make her whole body throb just by saying her name.

This was special. She was making love to him because she loved him. She wanted to give him pleasure because it made her happy to make him feel good. Angel was the first man... the *only* man... she had ever made love with. And the only one she ever would.

She released him slowly from her mouth, and languidly slid her body upward along his, until their forms were nestled perfectly together, the way they were built to do, and she could smile down into his eyes.

"I love you, Angel," she whispered, and his responding smile sent a shiver of joy straight into her soul.

"I love you too, Buffy. So much," he murmured in reply.

She kissed him again, slowly, softly, as she raised up on her knees and guided him inside her.

They sighed together at the contact... at the heat that immediately sparked to life as they moved in perfect time.

Her body soared, humming with the feeling of fullness only he had ever given her, and Buffy realized -- yes, she was *alive*. This was *living*. This man she loved... her home... her bed... the two of them bound together in flesh as much as in spirit... in Destiny.

She gazed down at him... how beautiful he was, with his head thrown back and his eyes shut tightly. He was alive too... dead or not. And the two of them were alive together.

He was right. Nothing else mattered. Only that moment... those blissful seconds as the tide of ecstasy rose higher and higher, and their bodies rocked faster, more frantically into one another. Tomorrow, next week, next year, all of it vanished. All the maybes and the somedays exploded into fireworks behind her eyes, and she cried out his name as she came.

Buffy floated gently downward from that crest overlooking eternity, and finally rested her weary body fully on top of him, sighing contentedly as Angel's strong arms encircled her, and he gave one last kiss to her damp forehead.

The Slayer slipped into sleep, lulled into peace by the certainty that as long as he was beside her, she could very possibly live forever.

***

A sharp noise tore her from sleep an hour later, and she shot upright in her bed.

Her empty bed. She looked around and frowned to find Angel missing.

Then she heard the sound again, and there was no mistaking the sound of clashing swords.

Ignoring her body's (rather strong) protests, Buffy jumped up, quickly dressed, and automatically grabbed her crossbow as she bolted down stairs, calling Angel's name.

Had something broken into the house the dead of night? Was he somewhere fighting for his unlife?

The sounds were loudest near the kitchen, and she saw the back door open to the warm night. She ran, crashing through onto the porch...

And almost tripped over Spike and Dawn, who sat on the steps, sharing a bowl of popcorn.

Buffy stared at them, bewildered. They sure didn't look like they were being attacked. In fact, they gazed calmly out at the yard, as if they were watching a movie projected on the lawn.

"What are you guys..."

Then the swords rang out again.

"Come on! Is this the training my tax dollars are paying for? I don't know, Riley... I don't think you're really being all that you can be, here."

"You're dead. You don't pay taxes, and from what I understand, you weren't an American Citizen when you were *alive*. Besides, they don't teach swordfighting in the army. I learned everything I know from Buffy. She's a great teacher."

"Don't say that out loud. She'd be embarrassed to have such a sloppy protégé. I certainly hope you make love better than you fight. Although... I guess that point's sort of moot now, isn't it?"

"Yeah? Well, I haven't seen you take me down yet. I thought you were supposed to be some kind of Master?"

Buffy felt her jaw literally drop as she observed what was happening in her back yard.

"What...wha..." she stammered.

"Oi, pet," Spike grinned up at her, "Have a seat. You're missing the Big, Fat Wanker Smackdown extravaganza."

Dawn scooted closer to the vampire and patted the empty space she'd opened next to her.

For a moment, Buffy forgot that either of them were there, she was so busy gawking at the scene before her. Angel and Riley circled one another warily, both bare-chested, sweaty, and brandishing one of her longswords.

Riley suddenly feinted left, then swung right, but Angel was easily able to dodge the awkward move. The commando's lack of experience in swordplay was apparent.

"Clumsy, clumsy, boy!" Angel tsked, " You've got ham hands -- no wonder you couldn't keep Buffy satisfied. She likes a graceful touch."

His opponent was unfazed. "Huh. I sort of thought she liked a pulse and body heat, too. Hypnosis must be a handy skill. You get laid a lot that way?"

Angel laughed, low and mean. "Believe me, 250 years of experience is more than adequate."

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT HERE?!" Buffy finally yelped.

"Sh!" Dawn hissed, shooting her sister a frown.

Spike tugged on the hem of her shirt. "Relax, Slayer. Just a good old-fashioned macho pissing contest."

"I am *not* seeing this," Buffy moaned, and sunk down next to her sister on the step.

"Don't worry," Dawn assured her, handing over the bowl of popcorn, "Angel's kicking his ass."

Buffy accepted the bowl and absently scooped a handful into her mouth.

It was sort of interesting to watch, she decided after a while. Two big, strong, sexy, half-naked males, one long and lean and fairly simmering with elegant, violent grace, the other a towering wall of solid muscle, driven by brute strength.

Verdict? Hot. Disturbing, but hot.

"It's sort of like reality television," she commented, "You can't not look at it."

Spike snorted derisively. "It's way better than those stupid shows."

With a roar, Angel spun, disarming Riley with one easy sweep of his sword. But the soldier recovered his footing quickly, and landed a combat boot directly to Angel's face with a dull, wet crunch.

"See?" Spike went on, "They actually *bleed*."

Angel gave as good as he got. The vampire shook off the stunning blow and threw himself back at Riley, knocking the larger human flat with a flawlessly executed, brutal flying clothesline.

Buffy flinched as they crashed to the grass. "I'm not the prize here or anything, am I?"

"No. I think it's just for bragging rights," Dawn told her.

"To prove who's got the biggest Johnson, more like," Spike piped in.

Dawn burst out laughing. Buffy gasped and quickly covered her sister's ears.

"Spike, SHUT UP!" she barked. "Okay, I've seen enough of this crap." She got up, dragging Dawn back into the house with her, ignoring the girl's protests.

"Slayer, where ya goin'? Don't you wanna watch your big hunk of night thing rip the potato head clean off your ex meat boy's neck?" Spike called after her.

"I want *nothing* to do with this!" she called back, pulling Dawn bodily upstairs and hauling her into her bedroom.

"Aw, come on, Buffy. That was SO cool! God, Angel is *gorgeous*!" she sighed dreamily, stripping out of her jeans and sliding on a pair of loose leggings. "And he's *SO* romantic. I mean, GOD. He comes out right at midnight with that sword in his hand, rips off his shirt, and goes, 'Now you're going to answer for your insult to Buffy, boy.' Wow. He's so cool."

Buffy frowned to herself as she undid the braid in Dawn's long hair. "He's going to have my foot up his cool ass, if he doesn't watch that macho chivalry crap. He needs to learn that this isn't the 18th century."

Her little sister grinned knowingly up at her. "Please. Who are you kidding? You love it."

The Slayer tried desperately to keep her Stern Grown-up Face on... after all, it wouldn't do to have her impressionable younger sister, who was almost old enough to start dating herself, thinking that it was okay for men to beat each other to a pulp over her.

But... she failed, and broke into a silly grin as she plopped down beside Dawn on the bed.

"Okay, I admit... I love it. I always have to be fighty butchy tough chick, you know? And sometimes it's nice to just be a fairy princess with brave, handsome knights battling for my honor." She forced a scowl. "But if you turn into some psychotic man-hating freak, don't blame it on me."

Dawn wrinkled up her nose and laughed. But a heartbeat later, she reached out and grabbed her sister in a bone-crushing hug.

Buffy ignored her creaking body and hugged back. Dawn was getting so big... and Buffy could remember so clearly being a little girl herself, leaning over the crib with her favorite doll in her hand, telling the baby that when she was older, she could play with all of her toys, if she wanted to.

Now they were all grown up, and the Slayer swore to herself that she would die before her sister would be forced to touch even one of the 'toys' locked in the chest at the back of her closet. It didn't matter one bit that none of those old memories were real. Dawn was her family... her blood... no less than if she had been born that way.

Buffy finally pulled away and cupped her sister's sweet face in her hands. "I love you, Dawnie. You know that, right?"

The youngest Summers rolled her eyes and blushed. "Yeah, yeah. I know."

"Slayer!" Spike's voice echoed from the foot of the stairs, "Where's the first aid kit? Siegfried and Roy here got some widdew boo boos."

Buffy sighed and got up, but before she left, she looked at her sister one more time, pointing a stern finger at her. "Just for the record? Boys fighting over you is BAD. Okay?"

"Whatever," Dawn snorted, rolling over and claiming her new journal from the drawer in her nightstand.


	42. Darker Ending

"And when the smoke cleared, the Hellmouth was closed. Glory was dead, and the world was once again saved by the greatest Slayer who ever lived."

Angel had the timing down to a science, now. The last words spill from his lips at the exact moment that the first rays of pinkgold sunrise touched the horizon in the distance. It set the warm summer air aglow, and lit the face of the memorial behind them so that the names carved there took on a heavenly illumination all their own.

So many names. Strings of letters that represented the human beings he had known and loved so well... and others for the demons and men he had barely known at all. He'd had the monument erected in their memory a year after Glory, and it stood proud and tall at the peak of what had come to be known as Summers Hill. The tower of marble faced the east so that the dawn could pay tribute, each morning, to those who gave their lives so that it might continue to rise and set.

"They died so we might live," it declared.

Angel had a ritual for this particular morning... one that he had performed once a year, every year, for the last fifteen since that battle. He came up at sunset to spend the night here. He brought fresh flowers form the garden, and built a small fire in the pit, and gazed upon their names, one by one, taking time to delve deep in the pockets of memory he held so close to his heart, and he would speak aloud what he knew of their stories.

Rupert Giles. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Cordelia Chase. Willow Rosenberg. Alexander Harris. Charles Gunn. Katherine Lockley. Hank...Tara... Anya... Faith... Riley... the rolls of the dead went on and on...

And in the end, he would weep. A decade and a half later, he still mourned them all.

But none more than her... the last name on the stone. His eternally shining goddess. Angel told her story quietly to himself... remembered all the many tiny things that had made her far more than just the world's savior. Those were the things that kept him warm through all the long, cold, dark, lonely nights since she'd been gone. Her smile. The way she laughed. The soft sound of her voice speaking his name. All the precious minutiae that made her Buffy.

He had never loved again. Not like that, anyway. How could he possibly? How could he dishonor her final gift to him by trying to dedicate it to another?

He played their last moments together over in his mind... a miracle wound up in a grievous, gaping loss. How, when he woke after the explosion, he had seen her lying nearby... dragged his broken body to where she lay, and knew instantly without even touching her, that the gurgling hitch of her breath and the labor of her heartbeat signaled her impending death. He had forced his own pain away and sat up, drawing her battered and bloody form into his arms. He could feel her broken bones grinding together... scented her life's essence pouring from what seemed like every inch of her, inside and out.

But still, she opened her eyes and smiled to see him.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," he replied softly, and brushed the blood-matted hair from her beautiful face.

The ceiling of the caverns had vaporized in the force of the magickal battle, and the last shadows of night were fading far above them. Angel could smell the sunrise coming. Their long, dark night was finally over.

When they came, he knew he wouldn't move from the sun's warming rays.

"No," Buffy choked an objection as she realized his intention. She tried desperately to sit up, but not an ounce of strength remained in her dying shell. She had been able to do no more than give him a stern frown. "You have to live. You have to."

He wouldn't waste time arguing with her. He wouldn't squander these last precious moments they had explaining that he wanted his soul to pass with hers, and they could walk together in the eternal sunshine of the Summerland.

He simply kissed her. After all, he would have forever to explain.

When he pulled away, he tasted her blood on his lips... a magickal elixir of power, courage, love and light, and he took a moment to memorize its sweet flavor before he licked it away.

"That's so gross," she complained weakly.

Angel laughed and sobbed at once, but fought the urge to fall apart completely.

"We won, ionuin," he told her, "Look."

Buffy's gaze rose to the lightening sky above them, and once again, she smiled.

"Look at that. We did."

Her body suddenly convulsed in his arms, and he held her as she coughed up more blood, crying out in pain. He wanted to beg her not to leave him. Wanted to demand that she hold on... but he could already feel the cold of death creeping over her torn flesh.

It was time for her to go.

"Buffy," he whispered when she'd relaxed once more. Her eyes fluttered open and focused on his, and he let himself fall into their stormy depths one last time. "I love you. Mo gra... mi anam..."

She managed to raise one small hand and rested it lightly on his cheek. "I love you, Angel. I'm so glad you're here. I'm so glad you came back to me."

"I'll always be with you, love," he vowed. "Always."

Buffy closed her eyes, then, and her heartbeat faltered. He braced himself to hear it stop, but a moment later it took up its slow, stubborn struggle once more.

((Oh, God. Please... let her go. Let her pain end.))

Her face took on an expression of peace... an almost beatific glow as she looked at him again. "Angel... kiss me... please."

He didn't hesitate to brush his lips to hers, gently pouring his love and gratitude for all that she had been to him into the tender caress.

Then she was gone. He kept kissing her as he began to keen, high and loud in his chest, clutching her to him, still pressing hiss mouth to hers. Maybe, if he didn't let her go, she would stay. Maybe their magick would bring her back...

Before he could finally force himself to pull away, a tingle passed between their lips... it grew to a shock, then a current, and finally spread into a bolt of lightning that exploded inside of him, knocking him flat.

Stunned, Angel lay still for a long moment. He took a long, shuddering breath, and cried out at the pain that suddenly rocked him.

Then he sobbed. Forced another breath into his lungs. And another. And another. And he could swear he still heard a heartbeat...

No. He could *feel* a heartbeat. His own.

So he had been brought back to life by the sacrifice of his beloved... by the love in that final kiss. Her death really had been her gift. Her final gift... to him.

For a long time, Angel wanted to give it back. He was alive -- truly alive -- and yet, what good was that when everyone he might once have wanted to share that life with was gone? Buffy... Cordelia and Wesley... Gunn and Faith and Kate... everyone.

With the exception of two. And it was those two fellow survivors -- the last remaining vessel of Summers blood, and the other vampire mysteriously (and unhappily) turned human after the battle -- that kept him alive by the sheer force of their combined wills.

He looked down now at the matching sets of cerulean eyes that were trained on him. These small reminders that made him glad, every day, that he had survived. These precious gifts of life that Buffy had left them... the world's hope. Humanity's future.

"Tell it again!" Christopher, the eldest, pleaded, scooting closer to his beloved Uncle Angel, "Tell us the part about the big monster and how Auntie Buffy killed it again!"

Angel smiled at the tow-headed boy. He had brought him here every year in the six since he was born. And the tiny girl beside him for the last four.

For them, he kept on living. For them, he came back here every year and told the story.

But most of all, he went on for the newest member of his family, who slept peacefully in his arms. She, of all the children, was the one who most held his heart. Maybe it was her eyes -- summer moss, where her siblings' were stormy blue. Or her honey-gold hair, where theirs was sun-bleached wheat. Maybe it was something in her pure baby smile, or the fierce attitude she showed when she scrunched up her little face, balled up her tiny fists, and raged at the world.

Her spirit had named her, not her parents. Elizabeth Anne. They called her Buffy.

The newest Summers made some part of Angel believe in reincarnation.

He cuddled the precious bundle close to his chest, and untangled his stiff legs as he got up. "Nope. Next year," he reminded the boy.

Chris pouted, looking for all the world like his long-dead Aunt, but accepted his Uncle's word. His younger sister, Hope, held a small hand up, and Angel took it with a smile, leading them back down the hill toward the house.

"You know, someday I'm gonna have your ass arrested for swiping my kids and dragging them up here for your annual brood-fest," Spike complained, scooping his son up with one arm and his daughter with the other as he fell in step beside Angel.

"You say that every year," the elder reminded him.

"Yeah, well, every year, I mean it more," the blond added with a grin. "Just that the old ball and chain won't let me. Damn Summers women. Built for nothing but giving me a pain in my arse."

"Hm. Maybe she just understands the importance of our history."

"No... I think she what she *understands* the importance of a free babysitter," he retorted.

Angel laughed, and the two men fell silent as little Christopher launched into his own ritual -- a babbling recap of the wonderfulness that had been his hero, Auntie Buffy.

He was glad he'd survived... glad he'd begun this tradition -- bringing the children with him every year so they might know where they came from. How much their lives truly meant.

They were the reason he and Spike went on fighting, battling the unending stream of monsters that continued to plague the world. Though human now, they still carried the banner under which they'd fought beside the Last Slayers all those years ago. It was these children that kept him hoping that someday they really would win once and for all, and leave a better world for these three to raise *their* children in.

He doubted he would live to see that day...but maybe... just maybe... Chris, Hope, and little Buffy would.

That was enough.


End file.
